


a sensation of falling

by words_unravel



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Dreamsharing, F/M, Insomnia, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Minor Violence, Multi, Past Lives, Soap Opera Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-27
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:05:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_unravel/pseuds/words_unravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Spencer has grown up with three boys through dreams that cross time.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>There's Ryan, the son of an earl, more concerned with horses and reading than rules and regulations of Society. Brendon, abandoned as a young boy and taken under the wing of all the freaks and creeps of the traveling circus L'Elephant D'or. And finally Jon, a farmer's son growing up in a country on the brink of a civil war. However, after a particularly emotional event just as he's set to enter college, Spencer withdraws, shutting his dreams and thus his friends, far away.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Only time doesn't really seem to want to play Spencer's game.</i></p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Masterpost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Spencer has grown up with three boys through dreams that cross time._
> 
>  
> 
> _There's Ryan, the son of an earl, more concerned with horses and reading than rules and regulations of Society. Brendon, abandoned as a young boy and taken under the wing of all the freaks and creeps of the traveling circus L'Elephant D'or. And finally Jon, a farmer's son growing up in a country on the brink of a civil war. However, after a particularly emotional event just as he's set to enter college, Spencer withdraws, shutting his dreams and thus his friends, far away._
> 
>  
> 
> _Only time doesn't really seem to want to play Spencer's game._

_**a sensation of falling**_  
~30,000 words // r // gsf (eventual)  
  
[Prompt: initially written for [](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com/)**bandombigbang** 2008, completed for 2010.]  
  
[Beta: [](http://angelgazing.livejournal.com/profile)[**angelgazing**](http://angelgazing.livejournal.com/) , [](http://thewayout.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://thewayout.livejournal.com/)**thewayout** ]  
  
[Warnings: Violence, Character Death (sort of?)]  
  
[A/N: This particular fic was an idea that hit me out of the blue one day (as most of my ideas are wont to do) and I became totally fascinated with it. Almost from the beginning, I knew exactly how it would go, how I wanted the scenes to lay out, and how I wanted it to end. In fact, the ending scene is one of the first things I completed back in 2008. Even when I re-opened the document for 2009, then 2010, that final scene never changed.

I would like to thank several people for initial hand-holding and idea-bouncing. Most of them probably won’t even remember as it’s been so long, but thanks are definitely due. The group includes: [](http://spleenjournal.livejournal.com/profile)[**spleenjournal**](http://spleenjournal.livejournal.com/) , [stele3](http://stele3.insanejournal.com), [](http://bloodygoodgirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**bloodygoodgirl**](http://bloodygoodgirl.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://siren-mage.livejournal.com/profile)[**siren_mage**](http://siren-mage.livejournal.com/).

Finally, I only did cursory research on sleep drugs, so please excuse any liberties I have taken. Also, for the sake of everyone's sanity, let's pretend I know anything about DePaul, okay?]


	2. Masterpost

_–the onset of sleep is marked by the slowing of muscle activity and the ability to be easily awakened. During this stage, many people experience sudden muscle contractions preceded by a sensation of falling–_

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

 **[to begin]**  
Spencer lives lifetimes in his dreams.

His first real memory of it was the summer he was five but he's pretty sure, looking back, that it started before that, perhaps from the time he was born. There's no way he'll ever know for sure, but that doesn't really matter anymore.

~*~

_The boy is young, but Spencer's never seen an outfit quite like the one he's wearing; white knee socks, poufy blue pants that hit just below the knee, and, Spencer's not quite sure, but it looks like some kind of dinner jacket, kind of like the one he's seen in the photos of his parent's wedding, but obviously made for the boy. The tails are a little dirty, as the kid is sitting in a corner between a huge dresser thing and the wall, curled up tight. His eyes are squished shut, tight, and Spencer can see his shoulders move every few seconds. That's when he realizes the boy is crying. He wants to reach out, hug him. Spencer hates crying, hates it when his mother cries, hateshateshates it. He's about to shout (maybe that would work) when he hears the yelling. It's a man and a woman, and Spencer can't quite make out the words but he hears the anger there, knows why the boy is hiding, why he's crying._

_And Spencer can't_ do _anything and even though he knows it's just a dream, it's frustrating to his five-year old mind. So Spencer pretends like he can, goes and sits next to the boy and starts talking. He talks about his mom and dad, their dog, stupid Suzie (ugh,_ girls _) in his kindergarten class and how she's constantly poking him and calling him 'fat'. He talks about the awesome Ninja Turtle costume he's going to get for Halloween this year, and the fact that his mom is keeping something from him, that her and dad get silly little smiles on their faces and dad touches her belly_ a lot _lately._

_Yeah, Spencer knows it's just a dream, that the boy isn't real and can't hear him, but when he finally stops talking and looks over, he's fallen asleep, head tilted against the dark wood of the dresser, tear tracks dry against pale cheeks._

_Spencer feels strangely proud, even though at five, he doesn't really know what that means._

 

His mom wakes him the next morning and Spencer races down the stairs, eager for Sunday morning pancakes, the dream forgotten.

~*~

 **[to remember: _age five_ ]**  
This is the first dream he actually remembers:

_"Boy!"_

_Spencer jumps at the loud voice behind him, and spins around to see a tall, slender man headed straight for him, irritation clear in every line of his face, his body. Spencer scrambles out of the way but it's pointless, the man doesn't see him, he's intent on someone else. When Spencer turns to look, there's another boy near his age, crouching in the corner. And for the first time, as he focuses on his surroundings, Spencer realizes he's in a stable, the huffing of air and sound of hooves thumping against the dirt floor. Spencer stares at the kid, there's something familiar about him-_

_Before he can think about it any more, Spencer's distracted by a quiet, "Lord Ross, it's a pleasure to see you've come visit the stables."_

_The man that steps out of one of the stalls is really, really big from Spencer's five-year-old perspective. He's not fat–'solid' is what his dad would say–with bright golden hair neatly pulled back and tied with a black ribbon. His face looks stern, but there's something about him that Spencer can't put his finger on, but he thinks maybe this guy isn't so intimidating as he looks. Maybe it's his eyes–they're like Spencer's, a bright and clear blue. He really likes that._

_"Ah-" Spencer nearly giggles as he watches the loud man struggle for a name, obviously uncomfortable._

_"Bryar, sir. Robert, if you choose, head of your stable." Bob–Spencer's decided to call the big guy Bob in his head because well, he_ looks _like a Bob, not a Robert (Spencer also loves giving people nicknames, but that's neither here nor there)–steps smoothly in front of the kid who's still standing like a statue in the corner, brown eyes wide._

_"We've just received the bay gelding from the Iero's stables today. He's quite stunning, in fact. It would be a pleasure to show you, sir, if you'd like to take a look?" With a subtle tilt of his head, Bob indicates the direction they should take. After a moment's hesitation, Ross nods._

_As they walk away, Bob glances over his shoulder and gives the boy a small smile. His eyes crinkle kindly at the corners and Spencer grins along with the boy in the corner. After a quick shooing motion, the boy's smile widens. Nodding, he scrambles quickly out of the stable. Bob turns back toward Mr. Ross._

_"Right this way sir–"_

It's not until a few nights later that Spencer learns the boy's name. He also learns the following: a) Ryan completely adores Robert (Bob), b) Robert ( _Bob_ ) completely returns that feeling, and c) real horses are _huge_.

 _"Bob!" Spencer has about five seconds to feel completely smug, even as Bob mutters a disgruntled "Frank" before the voice's owner pops up next Bob. He's short, especially so standing next to Bob, dark-haired and tan. He vibrates with energy and Spencer is only a little surprised when he tackles Bob, climbing up his back. Ryan, however, gasps in shock at such a forward action. The sound startles both Spencer and Frank, who scrambles back down with a, "oooh, who might you be, little man?" (Spencer scoffs, it's not like he's tall. At_ all _.) Ryan leans out from behind Bob, hand clenched in the dark material of his pants, answering with a quiet, "George Ryan Ross-" and after a pause, "sir."_

_"Well, that's an awfully big name." Frank squats down to look Ryan in the eyes. "Why don't we go with George?" Spencer grimaces even as Ryan's nose scrunches up in disgust. Laughing, Frank tries again, "Ryan then?" and gets a tentative nod in return._

_"All right then! How do you feel about a look at the stables?" Ryan's face lights up and Frank laughs. Well, he giggles actually, the sound surprising and high-pitched. Spencer can't help responding to the sound. Neither can Ryan and he giggles in response. This seems to delight Frank and when he holds a hand out Ryan accepts it without hesitation. Frank beams up at Bob. Bob, looking decidedly unimpressed, steps past Frank and continues down the road. The other two follow, hands joined, Ryan smiling up at Frank. There's a knot of something in Spencer's stomach at that, but he sets out after them. A few steps later, Frank swings Ryan up on his shoulders. Ryan shouts in surprise but it quickly turns into a peal of laughter as Frank's fingers make their way over his ribs._

_Spencer runs to catch up._

~*~

 **[to remember: _age six_ ]**  
Spencer loves kindergarten. Well, girls are kind of icky, but they get to color a lot and learn letters and stuff. Recess is his favorite, he plays chase and climbs all over the monkey bars.

Nap time is after recess. Okay, actually it's after potty break and story time, but still. Spencer kind of loves nap time because it comes directly after story time. He gets to dream about all the cool stuff Miss Salpeter reads about, fishes and rabbits and the moon and tea parties with the mad hatter ( _Alice in Wonderland_ is his _favorite_. And unlike most of his classmates, Spencer almost always falls asleep during nap time.

_There's the sound of a carousel nearby. His parents took him to the carnival about a month ago and only after the fifth time were they able to draw him away to ride something else. Spencer remembers the sound._

_He's not surprised, really, Mrs. Salpeter had read a story about a traveling circus today and The Amazing Flying Santinis, the best trapeze family in the world. Spencer was pretty sure they'd show up here sooner or later, but for now, all he wanted was to see the carousel._

_There were people _everywhere_ , nothing but a forest of legs and he wants to shout at everybody to movemove_move _, but he can hear his mom whispering in his ears about being polite, so he just zigzags his way toward the music, toward the carousel._

 _When he breaks through the crowd_ (finally!) _, the first thing he sees is this kid, tiny, with a messy head of dark brown hair. He's just standing there, in front of the carousel, eyes wide, bottom lip between his teeth, staring up at each person who wanders by. For a moment, Spencer thinks that the kid looks directly at him, but a second later his gaze is turned away. Another second, and a teenager who's not paying any attention at all (Spencer wants to yell, 'Hey') knocks the boy over. Without remembering that there's no way the kid can hear him, Spencer shouts anyway and rushes over to kneel on the ground near him._

_"Are you okay?" Spencer thinks he's actually asked the question that was on the tip of his tongue, but he looks up to find someone there, a man. He's got a kind face, Spencer decides, and a wide mouth that smiles easily. A halo of curls is escaping the tight ponytail at the nape of his neck._

_A sniffle makes him look back at the boy on the ground beside him. He can see how hard the boy was trying not to cry, his lip almost bleeding from the pressure of his teeth. Big brown eyes are beginning to fill with tears and Spencer really,_ really _wants to hug him, tell him that Spencer will help. It's incredibly frustrating, especially at six, to realize that once again he's only going to be able to watch stuff happen around him._

 _"I, I can't find my m-mommy!" All the courage is gone, tears are spilling down his face now and Spencer can feel his own eyes stinging. It's not fair, not at all, that he gets to be here without_ being here _, that he can't help at all._

_The adult shushes him gently, picks him up. Talks softly in his ear and as they walk away, the last thing Spencer hears is the man asking, "What's your name? Katy? Sarah?" Spencer can hear the watery giggle come from the bundle in the man's arms, smiles at that._

_"I'mma boy, mister, not a girl!" Another laugh, stronger this time, at the man's shocked gasp. "My name is-"_

_Spencer watches them walk away as the carousel music continues to play around him, and whispers the name into air._

_Brendon._

 

The picture hangs on the Smith's refrigerator for nearly a month–of two boys standing in front of a circle of horses. Spencer had worked _so_ hard to make the B that's just under the figure with dark brown hair.

*

Brendon's parents never show up and Spencer can't understand. He knows he gives his mom and dad headaches, causes them to yell sometimes, but he seriously can't imagine them ever _losing_ him. He sleeps so restlessly those first few nights with Brendon, that his mother takes him to the doctor. Spencer tries to explain that he's just worried about Brendon since you know, his parents _lost_ him, but his mom doesn't listen and they end up missing story time.

Spencer is not happy.

Things settle down and over the course of the next year, Spencer watches as Brendon gets enveloped into the utter weirdness that is Lelflant Door .Weird place, weird name. (He learns later it's actually L'Elephant D'or, but _seriously_ it still sounds like lelflant door to him). They clearly adore him and he's everywhere, a bundle of so much energy that Spencer sometimes wakes up even more tired than when he went to sleep.

*

On the nights that Brendon isn't there, he watches Ryan. He loves it when they hang out in the stables, which they do a lot because Ryan is constantly sneaking away from his young tutor, Marshall. Spencer thinks it's kind of silly that Marshall hasn't figured it out yet since they always end up at the same place. That is until the day he's wandering around as Ryan and Robert (Bob!) have a really serious conversation on the application of salve to a wounded hock (Spencer is slightly grossed out by this) and sees Marshall watching Ryan with a tiny smile on his face.

So maybe Marshall isn't that stupid. Plus he plays the pianoforte like a madman, fingers racing across the keys, hair flying wildly about his head. It makes Ryan smile so wide it hurts Spencer to look at him sometimes. Spencer really likes it when Ryan looks like that, it makes him happy too.

~*~

 **[to remember: _age seven_ ]**  
Spencer is seven, July has barely begun, and everything changes again.

_He's standing in mud._

_And that's a new one, after the last year with Ryan's never-ending rooms and servants and Brendon's Family of Weird (seriously, the bearded lady is nice and all, but she still freaks Spencer out whenever she shows up) so Spencer's not quite sure what to do._

_That's when he hears laughter, and unfamiliar surrounding or not, he can tell when fun is being had. He's just turning around when three boys fly by him, so close that one brushes the sleeve of Spencer's shirt. It's so unexpected that he stumbles backwards, falling to the ground._

_The thing about these dream worlds, Spencer's learned, is that although no one can hear him or feel him, everything else is as real as the world he wakes up in every day. He can see, smell, touch and feel._

_And now he's_ sitting _in mud. Spencer can feel it ooze through his fingers, sticking to his shorts. He's trying to decide if this is really cool or just really gross when there's a splat as another body lands face first in the mud right next to him. The other boy lifts his head, brown eyes blinking in shock and Spencer can't help but giggle, it looks like when his mom puts that goopy stuff on her face every Thursday night. Only the look on the boy's face makes it even funnier and now Spencer really can't stop laughing. A second later, another chorus of laughter starts up behind him. Spencer twists around._

_"Jonathan Jacob, whatever are we going to do with you? You're clumsier than Will!" There's a cry of protest (Spencer supposes that must be Will) from a tall, skinny kid to Spencer's left. The sandy-haired blond standing not too far behind him snickers into his hand._

_Will sends a glare in his direction, "Shut up, Tommy!"_

_The boy–_ Jonathan _–is standing now. Spencer watches as he wipes the mud from his face and steps in close to Tommy, threads their fingers together and faces Will. They both just stare until Will begins to shift restlessly from one foot to the other, obviously not knowing what to do with the other two. Spencer looks over to the kid that spoke first, the one who's name he still doesn't know, and sees a tiny little grin on his face._

_It's a second later when he hears Will's startled cry as he topples backward to the ground next to Spencer, Jonathan and Tommy tickling him deeper into the mud. It's not long after that they all gang up on the other boy, cries of "Surrender, Nicholas, surrender or die!" echoing in the air. A bell rings in the distance not too long after, and the boys untangle themselves and run off into the woods, still shouting at each other as they disappear through the trees._

_Spencer clenches his hands and watches the mud seep up between his fingers and wishes Ryan and Brendon could have been here too._

Spencer spends that Saturday making mud pies with Suzie (even if she still calls him fat), but it just isn't the same.

*  
 _Spencer's sitting on the bench next to Brendon, watching him pick a tune out on the piano. It sounds vaguely familiar, and he realizes it sounds an awful lot like the song that Marshall played last week._

_And that's kind of weird, really. It's the first time his worlds have collided. Spencer may only be seven, but he knows that Ryan and Brendon do not live in the same time. Clothing, speech, everything is different even as it remains fundamentally the same and it's kind of oddly exhilarating. Spencer would love to spend time with Ryan and Brendon together. The feeling is cut short, however, as the show's pianist is suddenly right behind them, excitedly asking Brendon to play again._

_Spencer finally figures out what all the excitement is when Brendon's asked who taught him the piano and all Brendon does is shrug with a unusually quiet, "Just listened to Andrew play, s'all."_

Spencer 's pretty sure he's got the most awesomely amazing friends ever. Even if they don't actually know he's there.

~*~

**[to remember: _age eight_ ]**  
 _"Sit up straight, boy."_

_Long, skinny fingers tighten briefly around polished silver, but Ryan doesn't say a word, only pulls his shoulders back until his posture's ramrod straight. Spencer glares at Mr. Ross and wanders over to the table. Mr. Ross reminds Spencer too much of his old neighbor, an elderly man who'd always yelled at the kids whenever they got too close to his lawn. Spencer's mom always told him that Mr. Prather was just lonely, all by himself in that house. Spencer had his doubts, has them still, thinking about Mr. Ross being lonely when he's got Ryan_ right there _._

_He watches the line of Ryan's throat as he swallows, sees teeth tug nervously at his bottom lip. Ryan opens his mouth and says, "Sir-" but pauses after, looking down at his lap. Spencer slides a little closer._

_A thread of impatience rings clear in Mr. Ross' voice as he demands, "Speak up, boy. What is it?"_

_Ryan's head jerks up and his eyes find his father; he can hear it too. "I–I wanted to, um, ask–" With each successive trip of words, Ryan shrinks into himself, shoulders curled in._

_"It's impolite to stutter, Ryan. Say what you need, clearly and precisely." Spencer can hear something like frustration in Mr. Ross' voice this time. "And sit up straight. I don't want to tell you again."_

_Ryan's shoulders pull back quickly and in a quiet voice, he asks, "I would like to know when Mother will be coming back to the house–" And as an afterthought, and more deliberate this time, "Sir."_

_There's a definite line of tension in Ryan's father now, jaw tight as he answers. "Olivia will–" He nearly stumbles over the words and Spencer wants to crow in triumph, yell 'ha!' at him. A similar feeling flashes across Ryan's face, but it fades quickly after his father's next words._

_"Your mother will not be returning to this house, Ryan. She's decided on an extended visit to London, but don't worry, I'm sure Mr. Southern will keep an eye on her." His voice is cold when he asks, "Any other questions? No? Finish your dinner then." He doesn't look at Ryan again for the remainder of the meal._

_Spencer watches Ryan push food around his plate, lips pressed together so tight they've lost all color, and wonders what the Ross' accountant has to do with anything._

*

Eight is a pretty good year, in Spencer's eyes.

He spends most of it watching Brendon eat up learning the piano. Spencer would complain since pretty much every time he dreams in Brendon's world, his friend is busy at the piano. But the look on Brendon's face always has Spencer climbing up on the piano stool to watch. A lot of the time he'll just talk while Brendon plays, tell the other boy about school. About learning math (which is easy) and reading (which is not so easy, yuck). How Suzie moved away in the middle of the school year and now nobody really pays that much attention to him, so he almost kind of misses her. But hey! There's this one kid, Brent, who's a lot like Spencer, big for his age. He's a little more shy than Spencer, but that's okay because he totally offered Spencer one of his Ninja Turtle pencils when Spencer's broke, earning him instant friendship.

He talks about Saturday morning cartoons. How Sonic the Hedgehog is pretty cool, but Ninja Turtles are still the best (Spencer may be slightly obsessed, even after a couple of years); describes his bedroom, the secret fort in the backyard; complains about how his sisters are really a pain sometimes, but they're little and Spencer totally had to save Crystal from a bee the other day.

Brendon just continues to play while Spencer rambles on.

There are times, though, that Brendon will get frustrated, his bottom lip raw from being chewed on and eyes squinched closed, keeping tears at bay. Spencer always quiets himself then, scoots a little closer and whispers in Brendon's ear. Whispers about how cool he thinks Brendon is, how special it is that he's got this amazing talent and how much Spencer really, _really_ likes watching him play. But he also whispers about how, even if Brendon wasn't this completely great piano player, he's still one of the coolest people Spencer knows. Which is completely true, Brendon _is_ awesome. He comes up with the neatest games and even if he's horrible at hide and seek (he giggles every time), he's faster than Tommy (who always wins the races in Jon's world) and he gives the best hugs (which, you know, Spencer can't personally attest to, but everyone says so).

Spencer knows Brendon can't really hear him, but when the tension leaves Brendon's body, he can't help but feel good.

~*~

 **[to remember: _age nine_ ]**  
It's not until his parents set him down after dinner one night that Spencer's unique situation really hits him.

"Honey–" Spencer rolls his eyes, earning him a soft cuff to the side of his head along with a _pay attention_ look from his dad, "–we've been talking to your teachers at school and well, we're a little concerned."

Spencer's about to protest. He does his work; doesn't continually interrupt the class like Cash does (okay, sometimes the teacher has to ask him to stop whispering to Brent, but still); he doesn't get into fights during recess like Bert, so there shouldn't be a reason to be getting this talk.

"Spencer–" His parents share a look "Can you tell us about your friend, Ryan? You seem really close. Maybe we could meet him? And his parents?" Spencer can feel his eyes widen and his heart starts beating a little faster. He stares down at his shoes, unsure of what to say, how to explain.

"Um, well–" Spencer's never really lied to his parents, not about anything big. Sure, he blamed the broken vase on the dog, but still. He knows this is Something Important, and he's not sure what to say to them. "Ryan is, ah, he's–"

And he can't do it, can't tell them the truth.

His mother lays a hand on his arm, gentle. "He's not real, is he, Spencer?" Spencer shakes his head, keeps his head down. He wants to yell _yes he is, he_ is _real, realrealreal_ , but he doesn't, just listens to his dad sigh.

"I just think you're a little old for imaginary friends, Spencer. You're a big boy now and it's time to leave that behind. You're old enough to make real friends, okay?" Spencer nods. His mom gives him a little hug and places a kiss on the top of his head. His dad ruffles his hair and that's that.

It's the last time Spencer ever mentions Ryan, Jon or Brendon out loud.

*

Spencer is so glad that he ends up in Jon's world that night. Not that he'd ever admit it, but this is his favorite spot.

Unlike the tension that surrounds Ryan's time, or the strangeness that is Brendon's home, Jon's world is just, well. It's _normal_. Jon's got chores around his family farm, but the majority of his time is spent with Will, Tommy and Nicholas. Games of tag, wrestling, chasing the girls with frogs–it's always fun.

_The boys are fishing, sitting on the raggedy dock singing some silly song that Spencer doesn't know, but he smiles anyway. They're never going to catch anything being this loud, but he knows that's not the point._

_William and Nicholas are seated on one side of the dock, Tommy and Jon on the other. Spencer flops down on his back beside Tommy and says, "I'm so glad I got you guys tonight, for real, you have no idea."_

_As usual, no one answers him, but Spencer's fine with that, busy relaxing into the warm, slightly humid air surrounding them. He's in a light doze (which strikes him as funny when he thinks about it–sleeping in a dream?) when Nicholas lets out a surprised shout._

_"Got a bite!"_

_Spencer tips his head back and watches as Nicholas scrambles to his feet, jerking on his makeshift fishing pole. William's shouting directions at him, which Nicholas is clearly ignoring, sending jibes back at his friend while trying to get his catch to the dock._

_After one particular 'your mother' joke, William simply reaches over and pushes Nicholas into the lake. Spencer starts laughing, especially when Nicholas surfaces, a look of utter betrayal on his face. William just stands there, a completely satisfied smile on his face. A second later the smile is replaced by wide eyes and a yelp as Nicholas reaches up and drags William into the lake. Spencer's sides are killing him, he's laughing so hard. He looks back to the two boys he's sitting with. They're watching the proceedings over their shoulders with matching amused faces._

_Spencer sits up, watches as a smile widens across Jon's face, as he throws an arm around Tommy. Spencer barely hears him over the sound of William and Nick's shrieking laughter in the background, "Best friends forever, right, Tommy?"_

_Tommy answers with a matching grin._

~*~

 **[to remember: _age ten_ ]**  
Things continue to remain there, four best friends against the world. The same old pranks, the same games, steady in a way that Spencer always feels so much calmer when he wakes in the mornings. Brent always seems to comment those days, about how 'chill' Spencer seems to be. He's even able to stare down Bert, the school bully, one time, which somehow or another earns him some kind of respect from the other kid.

*

Brendon's moved on from the piano, not that he doesn't play it all the time, but he's learning the violin now. And, unsurprisingly to anyone, seems to be just as gifted with that instrument as well. It's one instrument after another then, and Spencer watches with continued awe as Brendon just soaks it up.

Spencer still loves watching Brendon play the piano best though.

*

Ryan continues to be an enigma to Spencer. He's seemingly fragile, rail thin and long limbed, and it's something that always has Spencer wanting to protect him. Like Bob, he wants to just stand in front of him, keep the bad things away. Make Ryan smile. Ryan's smile rivals Brendon's, but they're so much rarer to receive, and that makes them even more special.

There are hours spent with his wardrobe, overly fascinated with colors and fabrics. This, along with his physical appearance, seems to bother Ryan's father a great deal. More times than he'd like to remember, he's stood there with Ryan, listening as Mr. Ross lectures about Responsibility and Duty. Spencer often stands behind him, making faces and stuff. Even if Ryan can't see him, it makes Spencer feel better. After the third time they hear the same lecture, Ryan begins mouthing along with his father's speech every time he turns his back. The perfectly attentive look on Ryan's face as his father turns to lecture him directly, though, really what makes Spencer snort with laughter.

*

The thing is, Ryan is _smart_. He soaks up everything he reads like a sponge, and can discuss at length mathematics that make Spencer's head spin, or talk about the arts for hours on end with his grandmother. Years with Bob, the countless hours he's spent at the Iero Livery, allow him to discuss horseflesh with more knowledge that people three times his age.

Spencer just doesn't understand how Mr. Ross couldn't be happy with Ryan. He's _brilliant_.

_They're out riding today, Bob and Ryan. Spencer's watching them from the lowest branch of tree nearby. Bob is exercising the latest addition to the Ross stables and Ryan is astride his favorite, a pale cream colored mare._

_Spencer had been there, the moment Ryan had fallen in love with her. They'd taken an excursion over to the Iero place, were talking and wandering around the pens when Ryan had stopped abruptly with a soft, "Oh." They'd all turned to look at what held Ryan's attention, and there she was, a spindly legged nearly white mare struggling to catch up to a nearby mare. Frank laughed, "Ugly little thing, isn't she?"_

_Ryan had glared at Frank and climbed clumsily up to lean over the pen. "She's beautiful!" The motion must have caught her attention because a second later she was wobbling up to Ryan, who'd run his fingers softly over the curve of her cheek. Spencer supposed it was love at first sight for the both of them, really, and he couldn't help but smile when Ryan scrambled over the fence and they stood together, all legs, the both of them._

_He doesn't know how, but a week later there she was in the Ross stables, waiting for Ryan._

_So technically she belongs to Bob, but Ryan's raised her, loved her. Her stall is where he escapes to when things get to him, the first place Spencer looks when he can't find Ryan._

_*_

_Spencer doesn't ever know exactly what happens, but suddenly Apollonia screams (a sound that haunts Spencer for years) and she's falling. Spencer is out of the tree before Ryan hits the ground, but Bob is already at his side when he gets there._

_"Ryan–" There's a cut at Ryan's temple, blood seeping into his hair. He's so very pale and Spencer can't breathe._

_"_ Ryan. _" Bob's voice is commanding, but Spencer can hear the underlying thread of fear. Spencer's never felt so relieved as he does when Ryan's eyelashes flutter, when he looks up at them, confused and in pain. For a moment he lies there, letting Bob check him over. But Spencer sees when he remembers Apollonia, remembers what happened._

_With a shout, he pushes Bob away and scrambles on hands and knees over to where Apollonia is laying. Her eyes are kind of wild and even from where he's standing, Spencer can tell she's in pain, her back leg bent at an awkward angle._

_Bob warns him to be careful, but Ryan is heedless. On his knees, he soothes a hand over her cheek, a movement so remarkably similar to years before that Spencer can feel his throat close. He watches as Bob kneels behind him, large calloused hand settling over Ryan's. He watches as Ryan's tears fall silently to the ground, unheeding of the ones that course down his own cheeks._

_*_

_Spencer loses track of the nights he spends sitting next to Ryan in Apollonia's empty stall._

 

His parents never remark on how quiet he is that year, but Spencer catches the worried looks they send each other over his head.

~*~

 **[to remember: _age eleven_ ]**  
Jon and his group are getting older, which means not so many trips to the lake, as all the boys are having to take on more familial responsibilities. Jon's world is still the most relaxing for Spencer, so he doesn't ever really mind when it ends up with just him and Jon watching the moon rise from the hayloft. The moon always looks close enough to touch on those nights. It's quiet. Comforting.

It's nice to have a place to relax, especially as Ryan's reaction to Apollonia's death continue to worry Spencer.

He's continued to withdraw and the tension between him and his father has only become exacerbated by the increase in brandy the man has started to consume lately. Ryan's father, already a loud man, becomes belligerent after too many drinks and he has a tendency to take it out on whoever is closest. Ryan usually makes himself as unavailable as possible on those nights.

When Ryan's father decides to set up business across the ocean and heads off to oversee the venture, Spencer's pretty sure both of them are more than happy with the arrangement.

_Ryan's curled up on one of the chaise lounges in the music hall. There's a ridiculously thick book in his hands, but Spencer can tell he's not really reading it. Marshall's come by today (or been sent for by Bob), and is apparently trying to lighten Ryan's mood by sheer force of will through his playing. Spencer tilts his head to the side and listens, it sounds familiar._

_With a start, he realizes it's that same song that Marshall's played before, the one Brendon was plunking out those few years ago when he was just learning. It's a beautiful tune, really, and it's caught Ryan's attention as well. Spencer watches from the corner of his eye as Ryan's studiously ignores the pianoforte but fails to hide the tapping of his fingers against the cover of his book. Obviously Marshall's noticed as well._

_"Well, Ross, are you going to sit there all day? I need some help on the end here." Marshall flips his blonde, too-long bangs out of the way and grins at Ryan, who doesn't even look up as he answers, "I'm_ reading _, Marshall, you should try it sometime. Broaden your world view to something besides music." Spencer can see the corner of Ryan's mouth quirk up and something in his stomach settles._

_"Passion, Ross! Girls like passion! And music is passion." There's a wicked smirk, followed by, "You've read enough books, so you should know that."_

_A faint blush paints Ryan's cheeks and he finally looks up, "Not_ that _drivel, Marshall. It rots your brain." Ryan raises his eyebrow. "As **you** well know."_

_Marshall just laughs and moves flawlessly into the next song, some jaunty little tune that has Spencer tapping his feet._

_Ryan watches with a small smile, book forgotten._

 

Spencer finds himself humming the next day, but stops when his dad gives him a really strange look.

~*~

 **[to remember: _age twelve_ ]**  
Cassandra Hardaway is a little blonde, blue-eyed powerhouse that takes the frog that Jon's wiggling in her face–they still love to do that–and stuffs it down the back of his shirt.

Jon pretty much falls in love instantly.

_"Jonny and Cassie, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First-"_

_"Aw, shut up you guys." Jon's a brilliant shade of red. Spencer is fascinated, as Jon is rarely flustered._

_"–comes love, then comes marriage–" Tommy, Will, and Nicholas show no sign of stopping, even when Jon makes like he's going to punch them. "Then comes Jonny pushing a baby car-ooph–"_

_Jon, taking matters into his own hands, goes in for a tackle. By an unfortunate twist of fate, Will is closest and the two go down in a mass of flailing limbs (Will's built eerily similar to Ryan, only taller and with a modicum of grace–only not so much at the moment). Proximity sends the rest of them down like dominos._

_*_

_The boys are on their backs in the field, everything quieter now. It's the usual configuration, Jon and Tommy side by side, heads opposite Will and Nicholas. Spencer's chosen a spot a few feet away, staring up at the cloudless sky, chewing on a long blade of grass and letting the steady sound of breathing surround him. Although Jon's voice is soft, it's still a bit startling when he speaks:_

_"Hey Will, does Mike still need to head over to your place tomorrow?"_

_Spencer turns his head to watch as Will sits up on his elbows. His hair's a mess, grass poking in every direction, but Spencer suddenly doesn't feel like laughing. There's something strange in the air now; he can't really discern what it is._

_"Yeah." Will shoves an errant strand of hair behind his ear. "Pop said he's going to that meeting come hell or high water. Says he's sick of all the ridiculous taxation they've been imposing, that it's 'hard to live when you're givin' all your hard-earned money away to someone who sits behind a crown all day.' "_

_"I just–" Will frowns, gnawing on his lip as the others roll up to sitting positions, listening. "I wish it was someone else you know? Don't know why it's my pop that's gotta be a voice."_

_"Your dad's a good man, Will." Jon and Nicholas nod their heads in agreement with Tommy._

_"Don't help being a good man when they hang you for treason, now does it?" The harsh words are a sharp contrast to the sadness in Will's eyes, and Tommy looks away first. Will flops back on the grass after a moment, heaving a huge sigh._

_No one says anything else for a long time._

*

So Spencer's not as worried about Ryan anymore. Sure, he disappears too often, is still too quiet, but at least he's going back to the stables, and back to talking with Bob.

No, the only thing that worries Spencer now is the fact that Ryan seems to be growing up without him. Spencer doesn't like it one bit. Ryan's shot up at least three inches in the last couple of months; which with his ridiculously long, twiggy limbs is actually kind of funny to watch. Ryan spends so much time tripping over himself and thin air that it doesn't bother Spencer _too_ much.

Except that the more Ryan matures, the prettier he seems to get. He's got a mouth that Spencer knows his mom spends hours trying to imitate, and his eyes have shifted to this gold-brown color that Spencer thinks is totally cool.

Which is wrong really, Spencer thinks, for him to be thinking about the color of Ryan's eyes. So he spends a lot of time making fun of Ryan when he trips over that spot in the floor for the twentieth time.

It's easier.

Brendon turns out to be a great help in distracting Spencer from his own thoughts. Brendon, in a fit of pre-teen rebelliousness, tries his hand at juggling instead of learning the cello like Ray suggests. Everything goes fine until Brendon decides to step it up a notch by adding fire.

Needless to say, Spencer doesn't see much of the bearded lady that year.

However, to the surprise of absolutely no one, Brendon turns out to be _really_ good at the cello.

~*~

 **[to remember: _age thirteen_ ]**  
Spencer's just turned thirteen when they get a new member to Toro's House of Weird (as Spencer still calls it in his head)–a fortune-teller. For the longest time, Spencer can't tell if it's girl or a guy, but when Brendon shouts 'Gerard!' one night and tackles him (Brendon's version of a friendly greeting), Spencer just goes _huh_. Gerard may be the prettiest boy he's ever seen. Well, next to Ryan. Which Spencer definitely doesn't want to think about. It's still kind of disconcerting.

Brendon is constantly bothering Gerard, wanting his cards read, his palm read, his questions answered, but the guy kind of freaks Spencer out. He's never seen anyone flail about while talking like Gerard does. Spencer kind of fears for Brendon's eyes on occasional as Gerard usually has one of his custom hand-rolled cigarettes lit while spouting his gibberish, hands flying every which direction.

_Gerard has Brendon's hands cradled in his own, palms up, when Spencer finally finds them._

_"You've great musical ability, young man," Spencer snorts, mutters_ no shit, sherlock _under his breath and sits down next to Brendon. "–and a way with people. The ability to captivate their attention, which–" Gerard looks up and grins, "–is fantastic seeing as where you live. Maybe it was destiny?" Brendon grins back and Spencer rolls his eyes. What a load of crap. Gerard looks back down._

_"Always surrounded by people, by love." Brendon's eyes shine at that. "But you still feel alone, don't you?"_

_Spencer watches the smile on Brendon's face wane, glares at Gerard. "Jerk." The fortuneteller's eyes flicker toward Spencer for a moment before they go back to Brendon's hands._

_"You're never alone, Brendon, no matter what happens." He watches as Gerard traces his finger over a line on Brendon's hand. There's something in Gerard's eyes that Spencer can't decipher and he frowns._

_"No matter how scared you'll be–"_

_Gerard raises his head and looks directly at Spencer._

_"–you'll_ never _be alone."_

_Later, after he's run out of the tent and halfway across the grounds, after he's caught his breath and his heart has slowed down, Spencer feels bad. He'd left Brendon without a thought, he'd been so scared. Gerard's words spinning over and over in his head._

_He finally makes his way back to the tent where Brendon and Gerard are now drinking what looks like coffee. Fear forgotten, Spencer looks at them both with horror._

_"Are you **crazy**? He's thirteen, you'll stunt his growth!" Which is entirely possible, Brendon is still _ tiny _compared to the rest of them. "His heart will explode, oh my god. He'll never go to sleep–"_

 _Spencer's rant is cut short when Gerard beams at him with all those small, weird teeth and seriously, that dude is_ freaky _. Brendon continues on, oblivious, and Spencer flops back down beside him. His life, so strange._

 

Spencer never really gets used to Gerard smiling at him whenever they pass each other.

Freaky.

 _Seriously_.

~*~

 **[to remember: _age fourteen_ ]**  
Puberty has been, uh, kind of, well. Sucky.

It's been horrific, actually. Spencer's spent the last two years in an uncomfortable haze of shifting body parts, bone aches, and an entire twelve months being unable to speak without random girly squeaks coming out of his mouth. The only saving grace is that Ryan, Jon and Brendon have all been going through the same thing. He doesn't think he's ever seen Brendon speak less than he did during those five months. Ryan's had lasted almost as long as Spencer's, but Jon, the lucky bastard, only went 2 months before his voice settled. Although he's still got that lisp which makes Spencer giggle, so he figures everything is kind of even.

Cassandra seems to really like Jon's lisp, too.

 

_It's eerily quiet in the barn and Spencer keeps listening for the guys, straining to hear anything at all. The barn is sort of creepy like this._

_"Jon?" It's useless but it makes Spencer feel slightly better. "Jon, you guys here? Tommy?" Spencer peaks around a stall. "Will–"_

_Holy shit. That's, uh, not really what he expected to find. Wow, Cassie's skin is really, really pale. And, oh my god, he really, really should look away now. But the contrast of Jon's sun-darkened hand against the skin of Cassie's stomach and ribs is fascinating. Spencer can see the faint tremble in Jon's hands, how it translates to the catch in Cassie's breath._

_They're kind of beautiful._

_Sure, Brent's snuck his dad's Penthouse a couple of times, but it's totally different from the scene in front of him. It's not stopping his body from taking a definite interest in the proceedings though. Spencer's about to step back when Cassie shifts, sliding a leg between Jon's._

 

The echo of his moan follows Spencer all the way to consciousness.

*

Spencer's busy stuffing his sheets in the washer when his mom pops her head into the garage.

"Spencer where are your–oh."

He feels like that person in the movies who's been caught doing something they shouldn't, frozen in place with the sheets half in the washer, eyes wide. He can feel the warmth spreading over his face and he knows he looks guilty.

" _Oh._ "

He can tell she's trying not to laugh, and oh my god, this is the single most embarrassing moment of his _life_.

"Well, ah–" She tries to cover a laugh with a cough, but Spencer's not fooled at all. "Just remember to add softener, okay, honey?" Another cough. "You know it's a perfectly natural–"

Spencer does _not_ want her finishing that sentence. "Mom."

"Really, Spencer, all boys–"

" _**MOM.**_ " His head may explode it's so red by now and he's getting more desperate by the moment. Finally, with an 'okay, okay' hand flap she backs into the house.

He'd swear he could hear her laughing, but he's too busy banging his head on the top of the washer.

~*~

_"Jackie has the biggest crush on Brent, Ry. It's fuckin' hilarious." The view from Ryan's bay window is one of Spencer's favorite places, like Brendon's piano bench and Jon's dock. The moon is washing the hills with a bright light and Ryan's reading candles cast a soft yellow glow along the wall of the room._

_A soft murmur catches Spencer's attention and he glances back over his shoulder._

__

 

 _"Ryan, what are you doin–" There's a quiet moan from the bed, a rustle of sheets. Spencer can see movement under the linen. "Oh, come on, you've_ got _to be kidding!" Another hitch of breath._

_Spencer throws his hands up in the air and stomps off downstairs._

_Jesus, what is it with all his friends? Spencer adjusts his pants a little. At least Brendon's too busy with the violin to do anything more than barely glance at girls._

_Sheesh._

 

He's fourteen and a _responsible_ teenager, one who does all of his own laundry now. Really, how many teenage boys do that, huh?

Now if only his mom would quit laughing at him everything would be _awesome_.

*

Gabriel is seventeen, close enough in age to intrigue Brendon, but old enough to have him a little in awe at the same time. He shows up at the circus toward the end of summer, skin sun-dark with eyes that follow Brendon, insinuating himself into Brendon's practice time. He always slides in close as Brendon's fingers fly over the keys.

Brendon eats up the attention, smiling wide, and Spencer just wants his seat back, thank you very much.

_It's really hilarious to watch other people's faces when Gerard's talking to Spencer. Granted, Spencer rarely talks back to Gerard, but he's looked everywhere for Brendon and can't find him. Gerard hasn't actually seen Brendon for the last hour or so, but he suggests looking around one of the older equipment tents._

_There are a half a dozen tents used for storage, each one darker and mustier than the last. Spencer's wondering where the hell they use half this stuff when he threads his way around a giant clown statue. Ugh, clowns are seriously creepy. He's too busy avoiding wall of netting that he doesn't really spot Brendon until he hears a small noise that makes him lift his head._

_He nearly trips over his own feet at the sight before him._

_Brendon's eyes are wide as he stares up at Gabriel. Spencer notes the stark contrast of the golden brown hand against the pale column of Brendon's throat. For a moment he thinks that Gabriel's choking Brendon, but the fingers just slide down. Petting. It looks like he's petting Brendon._

_He can't seem to move, watching as Brendon's throat stutters at the touch. Gabriel's moves his hand back up, thumb under Brendon's chin, tilting it up further. He starts to dip his head._

_Spencer finally finds his voice. "Hey!"_

_Brendon jerks like he's heard him, and Spencer watches as awareness hits Brendon's face. His eyes widen and a flush blooms across his cheeks. Brendon ducks under Gabriel's arm, stumbling over his words. "I, um, need–there's this piece I should–" His flush deepens with each stutter until finally he rushes out, "I'vegottago," and flees._

_As he brushes past, Spencer can see the way his fingers rest lightly against his mouth._

A few days later, Gerard's brother shows up and Gabriel's attention is diverted. Spencer sees him staring sometimes, still watching Brendon when he thinks no one's around. It makes Spencer furious, but he can't stop thinking about the way Brendon looked in that split second before he'd interrupted. The way his mouth had softened, the line of his neck.

He holds out three days before giving in and sticking his hand down his pajamas. It takes a ridiculously short time before he comes.

~*~

 **[to remember: _age fifteen_ ]**  
Spencer hates Kingston Lewis.

Burning, seething, blind hatred. It doesn't matter at all that he's never met the man, he's got the way Ryan soaks up every word he writes, the way Ryan talks with stars in his eyes.

Hates, hates, _hates_.

 _Marshall drops the book over the back of the chaise and Ryan is about complain when he sees what it is. "How did you get hold of this? It's not even supposed to be available until next month!" From this angle, Spencer reads_ An Elegy in Three-Quarters Time _by-_

_Spencer growls._

_"Well, if you're a good little pupil–" Ryan glares, earning him a short bark of laughter before Marshall continues. "My father knows the Vaughn family, and I knew how much you wanted it so they let me have an early copy." Marshall's smile turns a little evil. "You are going to owe me, young whelp. Owe me_ so much _. "_

_"What?" Ryan rolls his eyes and flips through the book, fingers caressing the gilded edges. "For a book?"_

_Spencer tries to make it explode with the power of his mind (current obsession: Star Wars). Unfortunately, it works just about as well as when he tries to use it at school when Cash is being a douche. Which is, you know, all the time. Spencer's focusing so hard that he nearly misses Alex's next words._

_"No, Master Ross, not for a book, for an audience. With its author." Spencer head snaps up._

_"What?!"_

_"What?!" Ryan's startled exclamation falls half a second after Spencer's, the odd echo making his stomach tighten and twist._

 

So, yeah. Ryan went through an awkward phase–no, wait.

Ryan's _still_ going through an awkward phase. One that will probably last until he dies, but Brendon? Brendon's just clumsy. Not in the uncoordinated way like Ryan, each limb its own autonomous unit, but in a way that usually ends with him face-planting in the bearded lady's cleavage (she still hasn't forgiven him for the juggling incident, by the way). On occasion Spencer's wished for a seeing eye dog for Brendon.

Of course, it's a lot easier to get him some glasses. Which is exactly what Gerard does.

The frames are tarnished, slightly bent and the lenses perfectly round. They're also a bit big and slide down Brendon's nose constantly. At one point, Michael, Gerard's younger brother, swipes them. Wearing them at the end of his nose, he wanders around all day with his chin tilted up. Spencer thinks he looks ridiculous but Brendon grins every time Michael walks past him, so Spencer only rolls his eyes at Gerard every other time.

_With shiny new glasses and the ability to see, Brendon takes to running around, offering to read stuff for them. He drives Victoria to distraction, until she threatens to have Nellie sit on him. Death by elephant is not really a glamorous way to go, Spencer explains. Brendon must agree because he exits the tent very quickly._

_Brendon heads straight for Gerard. In the fortune-teller's usual accordance of avoiding any and all daylight, he's firmly ensconced in his tent. Inside it's dark but cool and both Spencer and Brendon flop down near Gerard. Spencer knows Gerard's quiet 'hey' encompasses both of them. It's nice, Spencer has to admit, to know that he's not the only crazy in these dreams of his._

_They sit in silence, Gerard's phonograph filling the air. Brendon starts to sing along quietly and Spencer tilts his head, considering. Brendon's voice is a little rough, but it's_ good _._

_"You should sing more, Bren–"_

_"You should sing more often, Brendon." Spencer glares at Gerard's interruption. Unfazed, Gerard continues. "You've got a good voice."_

 

*

Kingston Lewis has horse teeth. He _laughs_ like a horse.

And he's short. Really, _really_ short.

There's also the fact that he dresses in color, pink cravats, brilliant and silky. So, of course Ryan is immediately enamored and Spencer just wants to punch things.

Mostly Kingston Lewis' short, horsey face.

 

_He can see the instant that Kingston Lewis really **notices** Ryan, the way his gaze sharpens as he takes in the long, lean lines of Ryan's frame. There's a sinking sensation in Spencer's stomach, and God, he wishes Gerard were here. At least then he could rant at someone who'd hear him._

_Ryan has on dark pants, crisply creased and form-fitting. Unlike every other man in the room, he's foregone a tailored jacket and cravat, opting instead for a boned vest, brilliant red, with a flurry of hand-sewn roses along one shoulder._

_Spencer'd started laughing the second he'd seen the ridiculous outfit, but as Kingston reaches out to run a couple fingers down the dip of Ryan's waist, all he can do is grind his teeth. A second later, Kingston pulls Ryan in closer and whispers in his ear. A blush spreads across Ryan's cheeks._

_Spencer wants to hit something so badly he can nearly taste it._

It only gets worse from there. Every time Spencer wakes in Ryan's time, he's with Kingston. They'll talk for hours and hours until Spencer drifts off to the murmur of quiet voices, waking up to the bright posters that line the walls of his room.

Topics of conversation are wide and varied but it always seems to come back to societal expectations, the politics of the ruling class. Ryan's always hated 'society', the facade that hides all the dirt of its participants. In Kingston, the opinions are met with equal fervor.

It always strikes Spencer as strange though. He's pretty sure that the clothes and the rouge and the black ash wetted to line his eyes, does exactly that–hides Ryan from the world.

*

Some days Spencer really misses lying on the dock with Jon, Tommy, Will and Nick. But Jon's usually with Cassandra these days and man, that's just embarrassing. Besides, Will's dad is away more often than he's home, meaning Jon's busier than usual. Any time not spent with Cassandra or the boys is spent on work that his older brother used to do. But when they have the chance, the boys still spend their time down near the water, huddled close. Whispers of treason and war quietly float through the air.

Spencer just watches it all with a sense of unease and wonders when things got so complicated.  


 


	3. to remember, ii

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

 **[to remember: _age sixteen_ ]**  
On Ryan's birthday, Colleen steals Ryan's heart right out from under Kingston.

Spencer watches with near-vicious glee as he slips from Kingston's grasp, literally, as Ryan follows her to the dance floor. Her smile is bright and Ryan's cheeks flush as he stumbles over his own feet. She laughs and shows him how to do it right. It's not smooth, or pretty, but Spencer sees the second Ryan falls in love. He ignores the dip in his stomach and turns to goad Kingston. Only the look on his face makes Spencer's stomach drop even further and he doesn't say anything, just watches Kingston watch Ryan.

Two weeks later, Kingston departs for Paris.

His letters are sporadic at best, but Ryan keeps them all. Spencer does his best not to think about the sadness in Ryan's eyes as he tucks them into the back of _Elegy_ , the way his fingers trail over the spine of the book as he slides it back on the shelf.

_"Jesus, where is ever–oooph!"_

_Spencer bounces off a wall of solid muscle. Landing on his ass, he glances up to see a rather large guy striding past him as though nothing happened. Which, well, once again Spencer's reminded of how little he actually impacts these dreamscapes. Before he can let that thought get to him, he hears Brendon's voice._

_There's a plaintive whine to it as Brendon comes barreling around the corner. "But Fitzzzzz, you were **made** for piggyback rides! Come on!" He makes a flying leap and Spencer flinches. A startled yelp has him looking back up, only to see 'Fitz' holding Brendon upside down. The look on Brendon's face makes Spencer laugh out loud._

_"Um, hello. Hi. Hi there, Audrey."_

_Brendon says it with as much aplomb as one can while being in his current position. Audrey raises one eyebrow and continues past them without responding. Brendon's face falls Spencer sticks his foot out. Unsurprisingly enough, she steps over it and Spencer mutters, "Stuck up much?" Followed by, "I don't understand what you see in her, Bren."_

_Apparently Fitz agrees, a frown marring his thick brow. A murmur of words fall from his mouth, guttural and incomprehensible until Brendon crows, "Ooh, Fitz. Fitz, you should teach me some German. Maybe a couple of curse words--" Brendon's voice fades as he's carried away._

Brendon adores Fitz Halleberg, and Spencer can't say much. The guy _is_ amazing. He always knows where Brendon's glasses are, he lets Brendon climb all over him (despite the weary, put-upon sighs), and Brendon's never late for practice or performances now. And most importantly though, when Brendon's been snubbed by Audrey again and again, Fitz distracts him.

*

And while Brendon just seems to be discovering the opposite sex, things are getting serious with Jon and Cassandra. So serious, in fact, that Spencer wakes up one morning in shock.

Jon _proposed_.

Two days later, Spencer's in the kitchen, just standing in front of the refrigerator. Jon's voice keeps choosing the most inopportune times to float through his head, and it's not until the hand lands on his shoulder that he realizes his mom is talking to him.

"Spence, honey, are you okay?" Concern laces the curiosity in her voice and Spencer jerks open the fridge door with a muttered, "Fine, Mom."

He's not really hungry, but he's got the damn door open and she'll definitely ask more questions if he doesn't pick something so he grabs a container off the top shelf. It's not until he's closed the door that he looks at what's he picked up. Yogurt. _And here it comes--_.

"Spencer James Smith." She raises an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side. "Really?"

Spencer glares and defiantly rips the top off. Grabbing a spoon, he shovels a big scoop into his mouth. The coolness hits his tongue, followed quickly by slimy texture and oh, yeah, he _hates_ yogurt. He manages to swallow.

His mom just watches and he really hates the slightly amused look on her face. (Seriously, it's like his life is one big joke to her. He wouldn't be surprised really.) She moves forward, snatching the container out his hands. Spencer tries not to gag as she takes a really big bite. Pointing the empty spoon at him, she says, "Sit."

Spencer sighs loudly."Mo–"

"Sit." The tone brooks no argument, so he takes a seat at the table. "And quit rolling your eyes at everything I say."

"Mom-"

"Spencer James Smith–" Shit, full name twice in less that ten minutes. "I don't appreciate the fact that you think I'm stupid." He opens his mouth to apologize, but she continues before he can get anything out. "Now. I _know_ something's bothering you." Spencer looks down at the table, away from her concerned gaze.

"You're not sleeping well, are you?" That makes his head jerk up in surprise. "Your bed's too neat." She smiles at the blush that starts across his cheeks. "Normally, your sheets are all over the place. Which–" she gives him a look, "–you really need to clean your room, mister." She waves a hand when he opens his mouth to protest. "Anyway. That's not the issue here." She gives him that look, the one that always makes him want to confess every bad thing, every bad thought he has. He looks away again.

"Spence, honey, what is it?" She asks softly. "What's bothering you? You know you can tell me."

 _Well, that's not true, is it?_ A little voice in his head whispers.

But she's right, Jon's proposal _has_ thrown him. He just knows that there's no way he can really explain what the problem is when he's not quite sure what it is himself.

"Is it a girl?" He's so startled at the question that he just shakes his head.

A second later, "Is it a boy?"

Spencer chokes, "Wha-what!? No. God, _Mom_." His face feels like it's on fire. "What the hell?

"That's a lot of protestation there, honey." She reaches out at pops him lightly on the side of his head, "And watch your language."

They sit there in silence while Spencer tries to make his heart stop pounding so loudly, until he finally mumbles, "Girls just aren't that interesting." Well, Cassandra and Colleen seem pretty cool, but he doesn't want to _kiss_ them. Not like Ryan and Jon want to apparently. Jon _proposed_ , for God's sake. He's only _seventeen_.

"Well, there's nothing wrong if you like boys-"

"I didn't say that!"

"Regardless, honey, there wouldn't be anything wrong with that.....I think you're too young to really know what you want, but you shouldn't ever be afraid to tell me or your father–" He blanches at the thought of having this conversation with _his dad_. "–something like that, Spencer James."

It'd be kind of hard to explain that he's got a crush on a boy. Who probably lives in a different century. Right. That'd go over _great_. Not that he does.

He sighs again, and watches as his mom continues eating his yogurt. The silence isn't as uncomfortable as it could be and for that, Spencer is grateful.

_Cassandra practically glows as she walks to met Jon._

_There's a ring of flowers settled around her head and her feet are bare. Jon's grin is blinding when he notices. Tom stands tall and proud next to Jon, and Spencer notes how much he's filled out in the last year. Nicholas and Will are grinning like fools beside Tom. Spencer kind of wishes he could stand up there with them, even though his stomach flips as Jon and Cassandra exchange their vows._

_Will's father is noticeably absent._

~*~

 **[to remember: _age seventeen_ ]**  
Spencer wanders into the living room, newspaper in hand. He has to work really hard at not rolling his eyes at his parents, snuggled up on the couch like a couple of teenagers. With herculean effort he manages not to say anything until the _CSI_ credits are rolling up the screen.

"So." They both turn their heads to look at him. They look like owls. God, his parents are so weird. He barely manages not to say that part out loud. This is really important and he needs to be convincing. His dad arches an eyebrow at him and Spencer realizes he's been standing there just staring at them. Clearing his throat, "Um, well–as you know, I'm old enough to start driving and so I think–"

Before he can finish, Jackie swings past him, snatching the paper out of his hand. Crystal's right on her heels.

"Hey!"

"Spence wants to take driver's ed classes." They flop on the couch beside their Mom, handing over the paper in her hand. Spencer glares at them and they just smile back, heads tilted at the same angle. Creepy. His whole family is creepy and weird.

"I don't know, honey." His mom's looking down at the ad he'd circled. "These classes are $295."

"But Mom–"

His father chimes in, "Can't you just wait to take the one that's offered through the school? A few more months won't hurt, you know."

Frustration's welling up, but he makes himself take a breath. He's prepared for this, knows his parents well enough that this would probably be the reaction. "Well, um, I could. But I know that those classes will have a whole lot more people in them. This way the classes are guaranteed to be smaller. More one on one time. More time behind the wheel learning how to be a good driver." He doesn't bring up the fact that most of his class has already been through Driver's Ed.

He takes a breath. "I mean, wouldn't you rather have someone who could give me a lot more focus rather than spreading their attention over two or three times the students?" Jackie's eyes narrow when their Mom nods her head, agreeing.

"And I'll pay you guys back, I promise." He throws in the ringer. "In fact, I applied at the Smoothie Hut yesterday, and the manager said I was pretty much a shoo-in for the job." Even his dad looks a little startled at that.

He watches the two of them have a silent conversation and can barely stop himself from a fist-pump of triumph when he sees the tiny dip of his father's chin. He manages to keep a straight face as his mom turns back towards him, pointing the newspaper at him. "All right, young man, you've got a deal. However–" she pops the twins on the tops of their heads. "It also includes baby-sitting detail. This Friday while your father and I go out with the Stumphs."

" _Mom_ –"

His protests are instantly overridden with the twins' cries of dismay.

*

Driver's Ed classes are the most boring thing Spencer thinks he's ever done. And that includes last year, when Ryan decided that reading _The Aeneid_ out loud was a good idea. In Latin no less.

In fact, the only good thing about Driver's Ed class is-

"Hey! Hey, Spencer!"

He turns at the sound of his name, coming face to face with dark eyes and a bright smile. "Hales, what's up?" Spencer is so cool, he's like _ice_. Then he ruins it by grinning like an idiot. If it wouldn't make him look even more ridiculous, he'd slap his forehead.

Haley's grin widens and she slips an arm around his. "You're on your way to work, right?" He nods. "How 'bout some company?"

Like he's going to say no. Sheesh. "Sure, but, uh, what about your mom?"

"Oh, I told her to pick me up from there in a little bit." It takes Spencer a few steps to realize that Haley planned time to walk with him, to spend time with him. He can feel his face heating up, but can't help the wave of happiness that floods through him.

*

He hears her laughter a half-second after the bell over the door rings and he can't help smiling. Turning around, he slides up to the register. Her friends are giggling off to the side, but he ignores them, placing his elbows on the counter, palms flat against the cool tile.

"So, Spencer Smith." Haley leans on the counter, mirroring him. Their fingertips brush. "Tomorrow's the big day. Graduation ceremony, parental embarrassment guaranteed, and little pieces of paper that say we're legal to drive. Sort of."

Spencer nods his head solemnly. "Yeah, yeah, never thought we'd make it this far. Especially after letting Sarah behind the wheel." They both grimace. Mr. Ritter's car still doesn't sound right.

"Sooo," Spencer tries not to stare at her mouth too hard as she drags out the word. Thankfully, she's looking down at the countertop. He can see a faint blush across the tops of her cheeks. It's really, really tough not to reach his hand out to brush his fingers across it. He coughs, prompting, "So?"

She glances up and they stare at each other for a few seconds. Spencer sees it, the second she makes up her mind. The way her shoulders settle, her body relaxes, like she already knows the answer to the question she's about to ask. She probably does.

"So, I think I should take you out to dinner, Smith. If you're really good, I'll even spring for dessert."

If he wasn't already completely head over heels for her, Spencer figures, that'd be the moment he would have fallen.

*

The last week of summer is marked by Ryan and Colleen's wedding. It's nothing like Jon's, so resplendent in excess that even Master Ross seems pleased. A week before the actual event, a package arrives from Kingston. A painting.

Ryan spends two solid days holed up in the study.

_Spencer opens the door to see Ryan at the desk, scribbling furiously. The desk is huge, a monstrosity that dwarfs the figure behind it. Ink stains Ryan's hands; it's splattered across the blotter._

_Ryan's hair is a mess, Spencer notes, sticking up in some spots and pushed flat in others. Almost as if he knows what's going on in Spencer's head, Ryan runs a hand through the loose curls. With a heavy sigh, he leans a cheek into his palm and turns his head. Following his gaze, Spencer sees the painting._

_"What is it, Ry?" Spencer asks the silence, stepping closer. "What it is about this painting that's got you so upset?" He doesn't understand. The picture's not overly large, there are much larger ones in the East Hall. More vivid ones in the second floor library. He just doesn't understand._

_He's so busy staring at the painting, trying to figure out what so special about it that the frustrated yell and the scrape of Ryan's chair against the floor startles him. Whipping around, Spencer sees Ryan shove the nest of papers off the desk. The first one hits the floor and Ryan goes with it. Spencer starts forward, hands stretched out. Not that it helps (it never works) and Ryan lands hard on his knees._

_Ryan's breath is coming in harsh gasps, his chin on his chest. Spencer reaches out, hesitant. Placing a hand on Ryan's shoulder, he can feel the smooth silk under his palm. Ryan feels nothing, Spencer knows. He rarely ever tries to touch them, in these dreams. It's unnerving to feel and not be felt at the same time. But Ryan looks close to tears and he hasn't cried since Apollonia was put down all those years ago._

_A second later, Ryan's shoulders dip and with a sigh, he slumps back against the side of the desk. Drawing his legs up, he rests his forehead against his knees. Spencer leans back too, and they sit in silence until Spencer can't stand it anymore. He starts to talk._

_He's done it time and time before, with each of them, rambling on about everything and nothing until he wakes up or they fall asleep. And it's no different this time. He talks about Haley, about the fact that she likes action movies and games. How she doesn't let him hide, always asking what he thinks and how he feels. He says that he thinks he might be in love with her, which is kinda stupid. He's too young to know what love is, really, but then he thinks about Jon and Cassandra, about Ryan and Colleen. He knows what love looks like on their faces and he's pretty sure that's what he'd see on his own face._

_Ryan's shoulders gradually lower and Spencer's voice is hoarse when he finally moves. Fingertips slide a single sheet of paper closer, and before Ryan picks it up, Spencer sees _Dearest Winston_ in his casual scrawl. Spencer closes his eyes and rests his head back against the desk. He feels Ryan stand, hears the papers as they're gathered up. When he finally opens his eyes again, Ryan's folding the pages in half. He slides them inside the cover of _Elegy_ and places the book quietly back on the shelf. There's a small smile hovering at the corners of his mouth, and Spencer watches as he turns his back on the bookshelf and heads towards the door._

_Colleen's standing at the door when Ryan opens it and all Spencer's left with is her soft smile as Ryan swings the door closed behind him._

 

 

Spencer's really quiet over the next few days, replaying that last night with Ryan over and over in his mind. Haley notices, and there's a part of him that wants to tell her, so badly, but he doesn't say anything. She just studies his face for a moment then slides her hand in his, settling in beside him on the couch. She turns on the TV, settling on an old episode of _Mythbusters_ after flipping through a couple of channels.

Two nights later, he watches Ryan dance around the ballroom, Colleen smiling wide in his arms as they spin around and around. Spencer thinks he's one step closer to understanding.

_"-and she's really smart. We talk about all kinds of stuff." Spencer knows he should probably stop talking about Haley, but it's been three months and it still feels like his heart's going to beat out of his chest sometimes. And Ryan and Jon are both off doing 'married' stuff, so he hasn't really gotten to talk to anyone about it._

_Gerard nods, murmuring, "That's always nice, being able to talk to them is important." Michael nods, too, from where he's seated across the tent. He's used to Gerard's eccentric behavior and takes their conversations with a grain of salt. Gerard's told him before that Michael can't actually hear Spencer, but there are occasions when Spencer's not really convinced of that._

_Spencer opens his mouth to say something else when Brendon comes tumbling into the tent. He looks slightly dazed, cheeks flushed and hair a wreck. He drops onto the cushion next to Spencer, shirt buttoned crookedly. Spencer sighs loudly, "Geez, Bren, can't you even dress yourself?" He reaches out to poke the bit of skin revealed between the mismatched buttons._

_Gerard giggles and Spencer looks up. There's a cool, amused look on Michael's face as well. "What?" He's about to demand an answer from Gerard when all of a sudden it hits him. He turns back to Brendon in shock._

_"Wait, what?" Glancing back to Gerard, he sputters," **Really**?" All he gets is another laugh. With a disgruntled huff, he flops back against the cushions. Brendon doesn't get play, this is a proven fact. At all. In fact–_

_"Wait a minute–" Spencer sits back up. "Who was it? Gerard, Gerard ask him who it was." Gerard's mouth is open when Brendon just starts **talking** , words trampling over each other in his excitement._

_"You guys, you guys, why didn't you tell me it was so amazing? I mean–"_

_Leaning back again, Spencer lets his neck relax, supported by the couch. He turns his head to stare, watching as Brendon babbles on. He totally beat Spencer to losing his virginity. Audrey's name pops up and Spencer blinks. And with Audrey, no less. Who thinks Brendon's not worth the time, or used to not think so apparently. What the fuck?_

_Spencer tunes back into the conversation._

_"–and she did this thing with her tongue–"_

_With a loud groan, he flings an arm over his eyes. This could take a while._

 

He wakes up with messy sheets again, but just rolls over and buries his face in his pillow.

~*~

 **[to remember: _age eighteen_ ]**  
Whoever said that senior year was a breeze is a lying liar who lies, Spencer thinks viciously, shoving one textbook in his locker and grabbing two others. He looks up in time to catch Haley walk by, two of her friends chattering on either side of her. She shoots him a wink, and Spencer can't help the dopey grin that spreads across his face.

He remembers that first day back, walking into the school with her fingers wrapped around his. Brent rolls his eyes at them a lot, but even he admits to Spencer (usually under duress) that she's probably the coolest girl he knows. There's the little fact that she can wipe both their asses at Halo that might earn her a little respect, but Brent refuses to admit it.

The first bell rings and the shuffle in the hallway gets a little more frantic, the noise level raising. He's got three more classes and then a shift at the Smoothie Hut. The job is just one more thing that adds to the chaos around him, but the extra cash is nice, and they're absolutely awesome at scheduling around his activities. He'll text Haley during a break tonight, see what they're going to do this weekend. The warning bell goes off, interrupting his thoughts. He curses, slamming his locker closed and then heading off to class.

Life goes on, in reality and in dreams.

_The first thing he sees is Ryan, face pale and shocked, slumped in one of the chairs at the dining table. Breakfast is laid out before them, but neither one is eating._

_"What is it?" Spencer demands, even though he knows there'll be no answer. "What's happened?"_

_Ryan looks up at Colleen. "Are you sure?"_

_"I know my body. And I know something's different, so yes, I'm fairly positive." She smiles sweetly and Spencer notes that her cheeks are flushed, her eyes happy. She places a hand on the sleeve of Ryan's coat; her smile wilts a little. "What's–" Spencer hates the nervousness that makes her fingers tremble and wonders vaguely when he got so invested in her. "Do you not want a child?"_

_Spencer chokes._

Spencer sometimes feels as though daytime is the dream, the way he wanders around in it, processing everything that occurs at night. All this while trying to just get through his own daily existence.

His parents notice the preoccupation, but never pushing it but always there when he needs them. His mom always seems to say the right words at the right time. The twins just think he's weird, Spencer's pretty sure, and his dad lets him be for the most part. It's not a bad gig, he knows, this life that he's been given.

Still though, so much has changed over the years. So much _continues_ to change, day and night. Ryan wanders through his home and Spencer can see the wheels turning. He'll find him some nights just staring at the portrait of his father. Those nights Spencer will talk himself nearly hoarse, trying to convince Ryan that he'll never be his father, that he's so much _more_ that George could ever dream to be. Just like always, there's no indication that Ryan hears him.

Even after all these years, Spencer keeps talking.

*

"So-" Brent slides into his seat, notebook slamming onto his desk. Mr. Wheeler, the calculus teacher, raises an eyebrow at the noise and Brent mumbles _sorry_ before turning back to Spencer. "So, SATs on Saturday."

"Yeah." Spencer grimaces. A similar look crosses Brent's face before he asks, "Fazoli's afterwards? Celebrate our continuing ascension into adulthood?"

"Can't. Hales and I are hitting up mini-golf." Brent rolls his eyes. "It's our–"

"Six month anniversary," the teacher interrupts. "Yes, Mr. Smith, so we've all heard. On numerous occasions." He can feel the flush spreading across his cheeks, Brent's huff of laughter next to him as he slides down in his chair a little. "Perhaps we could learn some calculus today, boys? Mr. Wilson, I hope you did your homework last night; you're up." Brent groans as the chalk makes its way towards him, a high arc over the front two rows of the class.

"Mr. Smith, you're on deck."

Spencer slinks lower in his chair.

*

Two days after Christmas Break, there are two envelopes waiting on the kitchen table for him. Both are thick, heavy. Spencer glances at the top one–UNLV–before sliding the second envelope out from under it. He knows what a thick envelope means, but his hands tremble a little as he opens it.

_We are happy to inform you that your application to DePaul University has been accepted._

Spencer lets out a sharp bark of laughter and sprawls in a chair at the table, letter held loosely. A second later there's a noise and he looks up to find his mother standing in the doorway. Her arms are crossed over her chest, eyebrow raised. There's conflict in her eyes; pride wavering with consternation, and tension in the line of her body as she stands there, watching him.

The smile drops off his face and he swallows hard. "Uh–" he bites his lip. "So. I guess I should have told you I was applying to college in Chicago, huh?"

She doesn't say anything for a moment, until finally, "Have you told Brent yet?"

That's not what he was expecting her to ask, not at all. There's a look on her face and Spencer drops his gaze, unable to look directly at her. He _hasn't_ told Brent, or even Haley for that matter. It's not like he'd thought he'd actually get in, for crying out loud. It'd been a long-shot application. It was out of state, the programs they offered looked really interesting and he'd had some money left over from helping out with the car insurance. So he'd sent it in.

"Spencer?"

"Jesus, Mom," he bursts out, "It's not a big deal, okay?"

"It's _really_ far away, Spencer. I just don't think you're ready–"

"I'm not a little kid anymore!"

"Don't use that tone with me, mister." She moves away from the door, stepping up to the table. "And I _know_ you're not a kid. But that doesn't mean I'm quite ready for you to go gallivanting halfway across the country for four years."

Staring down at the letter, he curls his fingers around the edges. It crumples easily. He slumps back in his chair and mutters, "It's not like I was going to go anyway." DePaul was a private school. The tuition for one year alone was nearly half of what it'd cost to go to school locally. Spencer's pretty sure they can't afford it, regardless. He makes to toss the letter toward the trash can, but his mom puts a hand on his wrist.

In a soft voice, she says, "Just because I don't want you that far away from me, honey, doesn't mean we wouldn't let you go."

Sighing, he shakes his head. "It's too expensive anyway, Mom. I-I'll be better off taking classes with Brent."

"Well, don't count it out just yet, okay?" She pokes him in the side of his head until he swipes her hand away with a disgruntled, " _Fine_."

"Great! Now go pick up your sisters. Cheerleading practice should be over soon." Spencer groans. He hates picking up his sisters. All their little friends spend a lot of time giggling and blushing while he waits for the twins to get their shit together. It's awkward for everyone. He doesn't move.

" _Now_ , Spencer."

With a great big put-upon sigh he stands up, sliding the letter back into its envelope. "Leave those," his mom said after a second, pulling stuff out of the fridge. "I'd like to show them to your father tonight." That makes him hesitate, but when he looks over at her, she's got a tiny smile on her face.

 

_Brendon's head is thrown back, his laughter floating over the arena. Spencer can help but smile at the sound from his spot in the audience seats. Caitlin does a little shuffle step to the record playing, turns twice, and does another little move that Brendon does his best to follow. He's not bad, picking it up fairly quick._

_Their laughter attracts several of the other dancers and a few minutes later, a line stretches across the low stage with Brendon in the middle. They do a little Charleston-style move, and Brendon's hair flops into his face. He needs a haircut, Spencer notes vaguely. Brendon flips his head back to get it out of his eyes, and the movement exposes the long line of his throat. Spencer looks away, but more laughter draws his gaze back. Even from this distance, Spencer can see the way Brendon's eyes are lit up. At least one of us doesn't have any worries, Spencer thinks._

_The song ends and one of the girls rushes over to start it again. The other girls push around Brendon, begging him to dance more. He protests, half-heartedly, and Spencer settles back to watch him give in._

 

Spencer keeps meaning to talk to Brent about the college thing but stuff just keeps coming up, a stupid finals project in AP History, an English paper on a book that makes him fall asleep every time he reads it, half the crew quits at the Smoothie Hut. It seems like it's never the right time.

And then Haley gets them a hotel room on the night of the Winter Formal.

*

"Jesus Christ," Brent mutters as Spencer sends a wide grin across the courtyard. Haley's sitting with her friends and a light blush spreads across her cheeks before she rolls her eyes and turns away. There's a sharp jab to his arm and Spencer yelps. "What the fuck, Brent?"

"You look like an asshat." Brent punches him again. "Asshat."

"Motherfu-that shit _hurts_ , dickweed." He slaps Brent in the back of the head in retaliation. Before it can devolve into an all-out slap war, the bell rings.

"Pistols at dawn, Wilson." Spencer tosses out as he slides out of his chair. And man, he's been hanging out in Jon's world too much because that sounds exactly like something William would say. Brent just rolls with it, "Whatever, Smith. Like you can kick my ass at Halo."

"No," Spencer grins, "but my girlfriend can!" Brent just scowls in response, heading in the opposite direction. Spencer laughs out loud, ignoring the weird looks from the others in the hallway.

*

Sex is _awesome_. He loves the way Haley's skin feels as it slides along his, how they both shake against each other.

It's _amazing_.

What's not amazing, however, is the absolutely horrifying conversation he has to have with his parents when they find his stash of condoms. That is not amazing. Or awesome. It's probably one of the single most embarrassing moments of his life, sitting on the couch across from his dad–from his _mom_ –and talking about responsibility and rules and being an adult.

He's eighteen years old and doesn't think he's been this red since that time at the lake when he was twelve. He'd lain on his stomach, the skin stretching so tight each time he moved that he'd barely done more than sleep for two days. This is eerily similar. Spencer barely moves for fear of his skin stretching apart at the seams until finally, his dad mutters under his breath that _at least keep using protection_ and lets him go.

Spencer can hear Brent laughing at him already, imagines they way Haley's eyes will widen and then how the corners of her mouth will tilt until she can't contain it anymore. For a split second, Spencer wonders how the others would react.

Jon would be a lot like Haley, unable to keep from smiling after a bit. Brendon would laugh, probably, but give Spencer a hug in sympathy as he'd gotten a similar lecture from Fritz last year. Ryan would, well, Spencer thinks Ryan would say something along the lines of 'at least they care'.

Spencer falls back onto his bed, sighing.

*

"Dude." Brent shoves into a chair across from Spencer and the chair squeals loudly as it slides across the floor. Spencer grimaces and glances over at the librarian. She's giving them the stink-eye and Spencer offers up an apologetic smile. She's distinctly unimpressed and Spencer turns his attention back to Brent.

"Dude," Brent says again. "Where've you been, man? Haven't seen you in a week."

Before he can answer, Brent keeps going. Pulling out a crumpled piece of paper, he shoves it over the table towards Spencer. The UNLV logo is instantly recognizable and Spencer winces internally. Shit, he still hasn't told Brent that he got accepted at DePaul. He'd finally told Haley a week ago, but she's still got a year to go and it seems less of an issue.

Brent though, Brent's his best friend. They've been planning to go to college together since they were _eight_.

Spencer tunes back in just to hear, "–lost in the mail apparently. The postmark was a month ago and the envelope was torn to shit when it came yesterday. Dude, did you get yours? You hadn't said anything about it so–"

"No," Spencer interrupts. The word is kind of loud in the library and he glances over at the librarian again, before saying in a quieter voice, "No. Yeah, I got mine about a month ago." Brent grins at him and Spencer's stomach twists.

He just sits there as Brent starts talking. Spencer barely hears the words, but the cadence of Brent's words are clear, the excitement evident. There's this moment of silence where Brent stops to take a breath and Spencer blurts out, "I got accepted to DePaul."

"What?" Brent's confused.

"It's in, um," Spencer stumbles over his words.

"It's in Chicago, Spence, I know that." There's a frown on his face now. "What the hell? I thought–"

"I _know_." Leaning forward, Spencer says, "I didn't think I'd even get in, okay? But it's just." He bites his lip, stopping.

Brent hisses, "We were going to do this together, Spencer. Remember third grade?" There's anger evident in every word now, his voice getting louder. Spencer raises a hand, motioning to keep his voice down, but Brent's having none of it. "What the fuck–"

"Mr. Wilson," The librarian's voice is a sharp crack across the room. There's no doubt she's heard Brent. "That language is not appropriate, perhaps you should go see the principal."

Brent glares at him, snatching up his backpack.

"Brent." Shit. This isn't the way this is supposed to go. "Come on–"

"Fuck off, Spencer."

" _Now_ , Mr. Wilson." Spencer watches helplessly as Brent turns around. He walks away and doesn't look back.

*

It's twenty-three days before Brent talks to him again, the longest the two of them haven't spoken since they've known each other.

He shows up one Saturday afternoon and when Spencer opens the door they stand there in an awkward silence. Finally Spencer says the first thing that comes to mind, "I finally beat Haley." He kind of wants to face-palm himself.

"No shit?" Brent's eyebrows go up. He offers him a small smile a second later. "How does it feel to finally have your manhood back?"

Spencer leans up against the door frame, tries not to smile too wide. "Not too bad. Not too bad at all."

*

On April 12th, Brendon's birthday, the South attacks Fort Sumter and the Civil War begins. Spencer's studied history for school, but he's never been so _close_ to it.

_Jon's arguing with Tom._

_"It's not like you got slaves, Thomas! I don't see why you've got to run off, too." There's a frown on his face, anger, but Spencer can see the worry that lies behind all of it. Jon flings an arm out, "It's a damn fool idea and you know it!"_

_"Will shouldn't go by himself-"_

_"He's not!" Jon shouts. In thirteen some odd years, Spencer's never seen him this angry, this scared. "He's got Nicholas believing all this bullshit, too!" Tom's jaw clenches. The two of them stare at each other, Jon's shoulders hitching from all the yelling, until Tom says quietly, "We leave in two days, Jonny. With or without you." Jon shakes his head, but says nothing. He looks down and after a moment, Tom turns and walks away._

Two nights later, Spencer doesn't say a word, just sits next to Jon on the dock. Their feet hang off the edge and the memory of laughter echoes around them.

The next morning Spencer mails in his acceptance to DePaul.  



	4. to dream

 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

 

 **[to dream: _night terror_ ]**  
Although he'd never admit it, Spencer still loves the nights that he gets to watch Brendon perform. He loves how Brendon just becomes so much _more_ on stage. He shines so much brighter, harder than any other of the performers.

Spencer's not the only one to have noticed this, there have been others. Audrey, of course, but there was one night Spencer remembers, where Fitz ejected an older gentleman who'd been a little too insistent on seeing Brendon. Although Spencer knows that Brendon isn't a complete innocent, there are still pieces of him that are more fragile than anyone but Spencer knows. He'll do anything to protect that, futile as it is with his inability to actually interact with these dream worlds.

Also, it's only in that place, his dreams, that Spencer will every truly admit to himself how beautiful he finds Brendon.

He never really examines this feeling too closely, the same way he never examines the strange turning of his stomach when he's there to see the way Ryan gazes at Colleen while she twirls around their living room. Or the way he can't seem to swallow when Jon curves his hand around Cassandra's cheek every morning.

Spencer's spent many of the last few years watching from curtain-side, watching Brendon grow, transform into the man that stands on the stage tonight. Brendon's portion of the show always draws the biggest crowd; it always takes the girls a good ten minutes to pick up all the roses that land at his feet after the last bow.

_Rouge has darkened both Brendon's cheeks and lips and Spencer carefully avoids staring, makes sure to look at Brendon's kohl-rimmed eyes as he passes by, heading toward his dressing room._

_"Awesome show, B," Spencer says, following him down the hallway. His words are echoed similarly by Greta, the group's piano accompanist. Their bassist, Christopher, runs by, slapping Brendon on the back with an enthusiastic shout. He takes a moment to tug at one of Greta's golden curls and then races off again, shouting nonsense. Brendon grins and Spencer deliberately looks away, looks down in time to see the way that Greta's hand brushes Brendon's. That's new and okay, so the wall's kind of interesting, regardless of the fact that he's seen it a million times before and the dark wood hasn't really changed at all in the last two years._

_Dammit. He thought he was over this--this **thing**. He's got Haley now and she makes him smile, makes his skin itch and his heart beat faster._

_Spencer's attention swings back to Brendon and Greta just in time to see him kiss her cheek, to watch Greta blush prettily and walk away, a smile peaking over her shoulder as she heads further down the hallway. Spencer goes back to ignoring the turning in his stomach and slips into the dressing room behind Brendon before the door closes._

_He nearly runs into Brendon (not really, but still even after all these years, Spencer treats his dream worlds like his real one. and really, who's to say they're not?) when he stops abruptly not two feet inside the room. Over Brendon's shoulder, Spencer can see that there's another person in the room, seated in Brendon's makeup chair._

_That's unusual._

_Not the fact that Brendon has an admirer, no, there's many a female that have come knocking at Brendon's door after a performance. Women of all ages and status, in fact; however, Fritz usually dispatches them away from Brendon's stuttering thank-yous and blushing embarrassment in a quick fashion,_ before _they get through the door. All of a sudden it hits Spencer that he's seen hide nor hair of Brendon's rather large self-appointed bodyguard tonight. That's fairly strange as well and Spencer feels a vague unease roll around his stomach._

In bed, Spencer rolls over, restlessly pushing at his covers.

_The man seated in front of them is handsome. In the back of his mind, Spencer notes the lean frame, how the stranger's fingers rest elegantly over the ends of the chair's arms. A brilliant red scarf curls around his neck, the ends tucked inside a dark coat. The man's eyes are dark, shadowed by the velvet hat that sits at a jaunted angle on his head. His attention is so intent on the stranger, that when Brendon speaks, Spencer very nearly jumps out of his skin._

_"Hello, sir. Is there something I can help you with? Are you looking for someone?"_

_Brendon's always at the most polite when he's unsure of a situation, when he's confronted with someone he doesn't know. He's also a bit clueless, even at eighteen, and Spencer can't help but roll his eyes, "He's here for you, dumbass."_

_Fitz may let the girls get a knock on the door, or a word in, but he's **always** hauled the male admirers away before Brendon knew there were any. Except for tonight. This makes Spencer curious and maybe a little more anxious because even if this isn't his time period, he can tell expensive clothing as well as the next person. And this guy is dressed to the nines, the smell of money rolling off of him. Rich people are used to getting what they want, Spencer thinks._

_The man rises, stretching a hand out towards Brendon, and smiles. Spencer wants to reach out to catch at Brendon's sleeve, stop him from moving any closer, but he knows better. Spencer can touch and feel, but it never affects anything. He's spent years working around that, but tonight is the first night it's truly troubled him. And there's no reason for it, that he can tell. Just a sense of unease that's made a home in his belly._

__

 

_Spencer's hands scramble over his comforter, the material twisting through his fingers. He frowns._

__

 

_"Alejandro Marroquin, at your service." He takes Brendon's hand and Spencer's gaze narrows as the grip lingers. "I heard an angel sing tonight and I thought I would come see if I could catch it." The corner of his mouth tilts up in an inviting half-smile as he wraps his other hand around their joined hands._

_Spencer mumbles 'creeper' under his breath, frowning as Brendon blushes behind his makeup and replies, "No angel, sir, just me." Mr. Marroquin is more than happy to sit there and hold Brendon's hand. Spencer coughs loudly, for all the good it will do. "Geez, Bren, buy a fuckin' clue already."_

_Unsurprisingly, no one pays attention and Spencer curses Fitz's absence._

 

Something wakes Crystal and after a moment, she realizes it's coming from the next room. She can hear her brother's voice through the wall. Curious, she gets out of bed to check it out. A few minutes later, Jackie trails a few steps behind her.

"Spence?"

 

_Spencer's getting a little pissed off. Fitz is still a no-show and their 'visitor' is barely a half-step behind Brendon as he moves around the room. Sitting down, Brendon's smile is a little nervous as he spreads the make-up remover cream over his face and grabs a towel to wipe it off. He misses the naked predatory appreciation that flashes across Marroquin's face._

_Spencer doesn't._

_Growling, he moves in closer. "Don't even think about it, asshole." Neither of the room's occupants give any indication they've heard. Spencer doesn't really care. A vague thought of going to find Gerard flashes through his mind, but he doesn't really want to leave Brendon alone._

_Brendon rises and nearly runs into Marroquin, the man is standing so close. "Uh, sorry," Brendon mumbles in apology before sliding around him and heading behind the privacy screen set up in the corner of the room._

_"So, how long have you been with the show?" There's a faint accent marking the words._

_Brendon answers and Spencer scowls as their visitor follows Brendon's shadowed movements through the screen. Marroquin's hands run over the items on the table as he asks a few other vague, inane questions. Long fingers linger on the towel Brendon had thrown down earlier, and Spencer watches as he lifts his hand, rubbing some of the cream between his thumb and forefinger._

_"Jesus fucking Christ, you are_ so _creepy," Spencer mutters. Louder, "Brendon, hurry the fuck up, let's go find Fritz. Hell, I'll even take Gerard right now."_

_Brendon finally steps out from behind the privacy screen, head down as he works on the top few remaining buttons on his clean shirt. Before Spencer can move, Marroquin's there, sliding his greasy fingers under Brendon's._

_"Hey!" Spencer says loudly. "That shit's not cool, dude."_

_Startled, Brendon takes a step back. "That's okay, I, um. I got it, thank you." Spencer sees his eyes glance toward the door._

He thrashes in bed, shouts again and suddenly Ginger is there, a hand to his shoulder, trying to wake him. "Spencer, honey, wake up."

Nothing.

" ** _Spencer._** "

_Marroquin apparently notices too because he steps in again, the two of them standing nearly chest to chest. Brendon's face flushes and he tries to step around, but Marroquin refuses to give any ground. Spencer reaches out, but nothing happens when grabs Marroquin's shoulder._

_"Sir, please," Brendon grits out. There are hands on his wrists now and he tugs against the hold. Spencer curses, where the hell is Fritz?_

_Brendon is wiry, but Marroquin has height on him and with one good jerk, Brendon stumbles into him. A second later, Marroquin's mouth is on Brendon's. Spencer might have laughed in another situation at the dumb-founded look on Brendon's face, at the way his body goes absolutely still in shock. Now, though, he just hollers for Gerard, the muffled roar of the crowd drowning the sound out. There's a flash of tongue and Brendon starts struggling in earnest. He pulls back, trying to break Marroquin's hold. A shout gets him a hand over his mouth for the effort, so Brendon bites it._

_Marroquin's face twists in pain and anger, the look ugly on his face. A split second later, he backhands Brendon. The sharp crack of skin against skin is shocking in the small room._

_Spencer feels the first sign of_ real _fear go through him then and when Brendon lifts his gaze, he sees it echoed in Brendon's eyes._

Spencer's fingers scrabble at whatever they touch - the covers, his mother's housecoat - his hands are everywhere, frantic. Jeff tries to hold them down, but Spencer just fights harder. Jackie starts crying, quietly.

_They're a tangle of limbs, Brendon struggling to break loose and Marroquin refusing to let him go. They turn, switching places to the sound of tearing cloth. All of a sudden Brendon yelps, stumbling back half a step. Spencer watches as a bright red drop splatters on the floor. When he looks up, there's a line of blood welling up across the back of Brendon's hand. They both stare at it._

_Marroquin's eyes are a bit wild, but the small knife in his left hand is steady. Spencer watches Brendon swallow hard before he says softly, "Please, sir–"_

_"Alejandro." Spencer notes inanely that the accent is thicker now, like he had to work to smooth it out earlier. Brendon nods, placates, "Alejandro." He gestures slowly at the chairs in the corner and another drop of blood rolls off his hand. Spencer doesn't know what to do._

_"Let's, let's just–" Brendon tries a small smile and Spencer stares at the corner of his mouth. The skin there is starting to swell. "Why don't we sit down?"_

_Marroquin is reluctant, keeping one hand around Brendon's wrist even as he lets him take a step toward the seats. A few steps and they're closer to the door. Spencer sees the shift in the line of Brendon's body, knows what he's going to do before it happens._

_He moves forward. "Brendon, don't–"_

_"I should get us something to drink–" Brendon moves toward the door, too quickly, and Marroquin reacts with a sharp pull and a loud, "No!"_

_When Spencer thinks about it later, as the scene repeats over and over in his nightmares, it's always in slow motion: the way Brendon stumbles, how Marroquin's own balance is thrown by his knee-jerk reaction._

_The small, startled sound Brendon makes after they crash into the door._

_Marroquin steps away and Spencer watches as a dark stain appears, rapidly growing as the liquid soaks into the material of Brendon's shirt. Blood, Spencer realizes._

_Brendon's blood._

He screams.

_Ryan, startled, drops his teacup. The fine China shatters in a million pieces._  
  
Jon stumbles and the axe glances off the stump of wood, sliding left into the ground. 

They all flinch at the sound. Crystal's voice breaks on her brother's name even as Ginger shakes his shoulders, hard, trying to wake him. Her own voice holds the beginnings of desperation.

_Spencer can't seem to move. Something hits the floor near him, but it's not until it rolls to a stop against his foot that he jerks his gaze away from Brendon. He looks down._

_The blade is long, slender. Red stains the length of it and Spencer starts shaking._

_A frantic rush of Spanish finally makes it through the haze in his head and he spins around in time to see Marroquin clambering out the window. Spencer takes a step after him, but Brendon makes another small noise and he whips back around. Brendon's breath sounds wet and he slumps back against the door. A second later, his knees seem to give away and he slides down to the floor. There's a smear of blood, a bright splash of color, on the door._

_Brendon's face is pale, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Spencer rushes forward, yelling for Fritz. For Gerard. Anyone. There's another rush of applause through the walls._

_"Goddammit, Brendon." Spencer goes to his knees. "You're in the way." Leaning against the door, Brendon's blocking the exit. Not that Spencer would be able to get the damn door open anyway. "Fuckfuckfuck. Where the_ hell _is everyone?" His hands hover over Brendon, hesitant to actually touch. To make it real._

_And then he remembers the window._

_He's halfway to his feet when Brendon whispers, "Don't go." Spencer stumbles back to his knees in shock._

_When he turns to look, Brendon staring straight at him._

 

Spencer goes absolutely still for a moment and his mother's voice trembles as she whispers his name.

 

_Brendon's staring at him._

_Like he can_ see _him._

_Spencer scrambles back to his side, watching as Brendon's eyes track him. "Brendon?"_

_The corner of his mouth tilts up in response, and Brendon opens his mouth to say something, but coughs instead. Blood stains his lip and Spencer just stares. It's not until Brendon tries to shift, a small, pained murmur accompanying the effort, that he moves. Brendon's breathes are getting shorter and harder to take, Spencer notes. He racks his brain, trying to remember any first aid. He puts his hand over the wound in Brendon's side–pressure's good, right?–but it just spills over his fingers. It's just the same as always, only now Brendon's watching as he fails to be able to do anything._

_Under his fingertips, Brendon's breath stutters and Spencer looks up. Long, dark lashes are making shadows against the paleness of his skin and Spencer whispers, "Brendon."_

_No response. Spencer drops his head to Brendon's shoulder. The material gets damp and Spencer realizes that he's crying._

_"Bren,_ please _."_

_There's a soft touch to his cheek and he raises his head. Brendon's fingertips rest against his skin. He can feel them, plain as day._

_"You've really pretty eyes," Brendon says. The words are quiet, barely a breath against Spencer's face. He opens his mouth to say something, what he doesn't know, when Brendon gives him a small smile and closes his own eyes._

_A second later, his hand falls away._

 

He comes out of the dream abruptly, sitting straight up in bed, Brendon's name fading in the room. His parents are beside him instantly, questions tumbling over each other. The twins stay huddled a few feet from the bed, staring warily. Spencer doesn't answer as their voices echo around him. It all sounds so very far away. Ginger smoothes a hand over his head and asks in a quiet voice, "Spencer?"

He doesn't answer, barely even hears her really. He doesn't hear anything but Brendon's last breath in his ears.

Doesn't see anything but the blood on his hands.

~*~

 **[fade to black: _anhedonia_ ]**  
Brendon dies in a Thursday dream and Spencer doesn't sleep for the next two days. His appetite is non-existent and it's not until his mother's voice breaks on a _please_ halfway through Sunday breakfast and he looks up to see something like fear in her eyes that he actually does more than just push the eggs around on his plate. It tastes like nothing, but her shoulders lose some of their tension.

He's upstairs later that day, laying in bed and staring blankly up at his ceiling when he hears Haley's voice. He listens to the creak of the stairs, doesn't turn his head when the door is pushed open. When his mom says quietly, "Haley's here, honey," he just rolls onto his side, away from the door. A moment later, it closes. Spencer listens to the quiet murmur of voices, then to the front door shutting. He waits for the sound of a car engine, but instead, his phone beeps. A new text message. A second one follows a few minutes later. The driveway remains silent.

His phone rings, _Candy_. A last ditch effort, Spencer knows. Haley hates talking on the phone. It goes off three more times before he hears the engine come to life. Spencer turns the phone off and goes back to staring at the wall.

*

That night, sheer exhaustion takes control and Spencer falls asleep. An hour and a half later, he wakes up screaming.

*

There are deep circles under his eyes Monday morning, but he's already awake and showered by the time his parents stumble into the kitchen. Vaguely Spencer realizes that it's kind of creepy that he's just sitting there when his dad flips on the light and jumps a little when he spots Spencer. A deep sigh follows, but he doesn't say anything to Spencer, just sets a cup of coffee down in front of him a few minutes later.

He can hear his parent arguing upstairs after breakfast, his mom's voice rising in frustration. Later, she says she's taking him to school and he doesn't argue. He doesn't know what she tells the principle, or what gets passed onto his teachers, but they don't say anything about how he looks. He can hear some of the students whispering, but he can't really bring himself to care.

He's standing there, staring into his locker trying to remember what class he's supposed to have next when there's a touch to his shoulder. He jumps, knocking the hand away. It's Haley and he sees the hurt in her eyes, but can't make himself say anything other than a hoarse, "Sorry." She just nods, digging her teeth into her bottom lip.

At lunch, she and Brent flank him like guards. He sits there, unresponsive, while they try to hold a conversation like nothing's happened. Like Brendon isn't dead. But they don't know Brendon because Brendon only exists in his dreams. In his head. Like he's not _real_.

Spencer calmly pushes away from the table, ignoring Haley calling his name. He barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up.

He does his best to avoid both of them after that.

*

Brent climbs through his window a few days later. It's something that he hasn't done since they were thirteen, when he broke his arm slipping on a weakened branch. Spencer doesn't move, continues to stare at the wall. Brent slides down to the floor, directly in his line of sight. There's enough ambient light that Spencer knows Brent can tell he's awake. They stare at each other in the dark for a while until Spencer's eyes start to droop. He fights it, doesn't want to see it all again. Doesn't want to wake up screaming like he has almost every night.

Doesn't want Brent to see that, any of it.

It's hard though, after a while, to fight the exhaustion. He can feel Brent's gaze still on him when he eventually slips into unconsciousness. He wakes a few hours later, the sun slowly brightening his room.

Brent's gone, but when he rolls over to look at the clock, Spencer sees the photo. Propped up against the lamp, it's the two of them, around ten years ago. They've got their arms around each other's shoulders, wide grins for the camera.

Spencer stares at for a few minutes, then reaches over and flips it face down on his night stand.

*  
   
Two and a half weeks into waking the entire household up at least once a night, Spencer's parents take him to a psychologist. He'd been recommended by the school's counselor after Spencer had passed out in 6th period gym. He remembers that Mrs. Casey was the first person he'd seen after waking up in the nurse's office. She been staring at him with some mix of pity and curiosity and he'd just closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see it.

And now he's sitting in a plush, leather chair. It's comfortable, the kind that you sort of sink down into, surrounding you on all sides. Dr. Blackinton is sitting opposite him in a similar chair. He's tall, with miles of arm and leg. A pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses are starting to slide down his nose as he reads. There's a file folder open on his lap and Spencer wonders fleetingly what his parents have told the doctor.

Blackinton raises his head, eyes sharp behind his glasses. "So. Nightmares, huh?"

Spencer presses back into the chair, letting the cool leather pull him in. He doesn't say anything for the next 45 minutes.

*

 

He's in the band hall late one afternoon, practicing with the drum line. Graduation is coming up and the band director wants something completely different from what they've done before. It's harder than usual and Spencer has to actually concentrate to keep up the driving sound.

There's this moment when the rhythm, the pounding, is all he can hear. Everything seems to fade away–the blood, the terror, the sleeplessness–just settles into the background as he focuses on the beat. It's literally the most peaceful moment he's had in weeks.

Jackie's in the middle of telling some ridiculous story that night at dinner when Spencer interrupts with, "Can I have a drum kit?"

His sister turns to glare at him but drops her gaze a second later. She bites her lip, and Spencer kind of hates himself. Both of the girls barely look at him anymore, hardly know how to talk to him. He opens his mouth to apologize when Ginger says, "I don't know, Spencer. That doesn't seem very practical. You've only got a couple weeks of school left. And you'll be going to college soon, it's not something you can put in your dorm room."

She frowns down at her plate. "Unless you've changed your mind? About going to Chicago?" There's a bit of hope in her voice, but Spencer just responds, "I've got enough cash left, I can buy it myself."

James sets his fork down, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder. "There's no need for that, Spencer. You should keep your money." He watches his dad run his hand down his mom's back and hates himself just a little bit more. "We were thinking of something a bit more practical, like a small fridge, but if you want a drum set–" He gives Spencer a small smile and a nod. "Then a drum set it is."

He manages to choke out a small thank before the silence settles in again, the silverware against plates the only sound. After a few minutes, Spencer's dad clears his throat and asks Jackie to finish her story. Spencer keeps his gaze on his plate as she hesitates. It's not very long until her voice rises in excitement.

*

"I hear you got some drums," Dr. Blackinton– _Ryland, please_ –asks at their next session. Spencer nods. Drumming is a fairly safe subject. Ryland continues, "Man, I used to be in a band, back in college." His eyes kind of glaze over a little, remembering something, and Spencer blurts out, "Really?" before he can stop himself.

Swinging his gaze back to Spencer, eyes bright, Ryland grins. "Oh yeah, _Pleasure Ryland_. We were pretty sweet, not gonna lie. Had a keytar and everything." Spencer snorts out a laugh before he can stop himself and Ryland's smile widens.

Spencer looks down at his hands for a moment and when he lifts his gaze, Ryland's smile has softened, expectant.

"Can you make me not dream?" Spencer whispers, swallowing hard. "Please?"

*

The pills make him feel normal again. Mostly. At least now he can sleep the whole night through, granted it's not usually more than five or six hours. But he doesn't have to worry about waking up in cold sweats; doesn't have to watch his sisters slide around him like he's a disease they're afraid to catch; doesn't have to look at his mother's eyes, red-rimmed and scared. No, now he wakes up and can breathe.

The images start to fade, never so sharp anymore.

Graduation comes and goes.

Summer is hot in Vegas, as usual. Spencer spends most of it working at the Smoothie Hut or in the garage on his drums. He still doesn't eat much, but at least now he remembers to. The drumming and loss of appetite means he drops all the baby fat that's been hanging on since puberty. That's something at least, he thinks.

Brent comes over with his bass a couple times a week and they'll jam for several hours. Afterward, they'll head upstairs and play Guitar Hero for a while. All of Spencer's first-person shooters and similar games gather dust underneath the TV, and he'll catch Brent looking at them sometimes. Finally one evening, Spencer just sends them all home with Brent.

Frowning, Brent looks up. He opens his mouth and Spencer panics for split second. They've still never talked about what happened to Spencer. He realizes in that instant it's still too fresh, too real and he mumbles something about running errands for his mom and pretty much flees the room. Brent never tries to ask again.

*

He and Haley fall back into some semblance of a relationship. He loves her, he does. But even before, there was that part of him he held back from her. Now it feels like that divide is even bigger to Spencer. He knows that it's his fault, that Haley's just waiting for the time when he'll talk to her. He can see the worry, the questions she always wants to ask but doesn't.

The thing is, Haley's not all that patient. She never has been and so they've argued more in the last month than they have since they've known each other. Spencer can't seem to make her understand that he can't, _won't_ , talk about it.

So they argue and apologize, over and over again. She watches him take the pills and he knows she hates it.

*

It's late in the evening, the sun starting to set. It's three days until he heads for Chicago and there are boxes littered around his room. He can't find his pills.

"Can't you just not--not take them tonight?" Frustration laces Haley's voice.

Spencer looks at her over her shoulder, frowning, "Hales, we've talked-"

"About it, I know." Arms crossed, she looks away.

Sighing, Spencer turns his attention back to looking for his pills. "Where the hell are they?" He pulls too hard on on the night stand drawer and it drops to the floor, contents scattering. " _Fuck_."

"Spencer-"

There's a soft touch to his shoulder and he swings around, knocking her hand away. "Damn it, Haley, I've told you!"

She steps back, eyes wide.All the anger dissipates instantly at the look on her face. He scrubs a hand over his face and slumps down on to the bed. His voice is ragged when he says, "Hales, I. I'm sor–"

"Shh." She sits down next to him on the bed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He leans into it and tucks his face into her neck. Her skin is always so soft, always smells so good. Breathing in deeply, he mutters a soft _sorry_ anyway. Her fingers tangle in his hair and she tugs them both down until they're lying face to face on his bed.

The muted murmur of the televisions drifts up from downstairs. He can hear his sisters arguing somewhere in the house, and everything seems like normal again. Everything but him. He watches Haley watch him and whispers, "I _do_ love you. You know that, right?"

She smiles sweetly at him, but he can see a sadness in her eyes. It makes his throat tighten and he closes his eyes to block it out. It seems like he's always running away.

After a while, the tension settles out of his body and he can feel himself slipping into sleep. He tries to force his eyelids open, to sit up and find his medication, but they're so heavy and Haley's fingertips are tracing soft over his cheeks, reassuring. Soothing.

For the first time in nearly three months, Spencer falls asleep without his pills.

 

_The hallways are quieter than Spencer remembers them being. He makes his way toward the library, but Ryan isn't there._

_Unable to help himself, he glances up._ Elegy _is in its same location, a thin layer of dust covering it. Spencer brushes his fingertips along its spine, but the dust remains undisturbed and he turns away. Moving by the desk, he glances down and something catches his eye._

 __Last Will & Testament _. Ryan's father's name is written below that line. Spencer just stands there in shock, a million questions running through his head. When had happened? And how was Ryan taking it?_

 _Spencer's head snaps up at the sound of voices, raised and urgent. Several servants rush past the library a second later, arms full of sheets.He scrambles around the desk to follow. He can't really understand what's going on, but he catches the word_ Mistress Ross _. Colleen._

_His stomach drops._

_When he stumbles into the foyer, Bob has one hand on Ryan's shoulder, the other tight around his upper arm. It wraps nearly all the way around._

_"I'm sorry, Master Ross. We–" Spencer recognizes Charlotte, one of the younger maids. She's crying. Her voice barely above a whisper, but loud enough that Spencer hears it clearly when she says, "We lost them both."_

_Ryan crumples and Bob slides to the ground with him, pulling Ryan into his chest as he starts shaking._

__This isn't happening _, Spencer thinks._ Wake up, please let me just wake up. _He stumbles back out of the room--_

_–and nearly trips when his foot catches in a deep rut on a dirt road._

__No, nononono _. He doesn't want to be here either, recognizing the setting immediately. Raising his head, he sees a figure coming down the road; watching as it comes closer, as a familiar face comes into focus. Spencer can feel the sadness in the slight limp as Nicholas walks closer._

_"Nicholas!"_

_Jon's shirt brushes his sleeve when he runs by and Spencer want to catch his arm, stop him. But even as he reaches out, Jon's past him, arms wrapping his friend up in a bone-crushing hug. Spencer watches as Jon takes a step back, hands still on Nicholas' shoulders. He grins, asking, "Good to have you back! When's the rest of the gang coming?_

_"Jon," Nicholas swallows hard, staring down at his feet. The smile slips off Jon's face. His voice is low, rough, when he asks quietly, "Tommy?"_

_"I couldn't–" Nicholas shakes his head. "I couldn't get there in time. They were both–" He looks back up and shakes his head again, unable to finish._

_Spencer closes his eyes against the pain in Jon's face, but he can still see it. Still hear Ryan's choked sobs. It's too much._

_It's still too much._

"Spencer, wake up, please. _Spencer_." Haley's voice is choked and when he opens his eyes, her tears are the first thing he sees. He reaches up, fingertips catching on the wetness coursing down her cheeks. "Hales?"

"You wouldn't wake up." There's still a bit of panic in her eyes. "You–you were shaking in your sleep and I tried. But you wouldn't wake up and then you started _crying_." He touches his own face and she's right, there are tracks of tears on his face. "Spencer, what's going on? Is this what happens when you don't take those pills?"

"No," he answers truthfully. "I usually wake up screaming." She looks horrified. " _Spencer_." He reaches out for her. She flinches back and he drops his hand.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. Her fingers are white, she's gripping her hands together so tight. Spencer wants to reach out, want to curl them in his own hands, but he doesn't. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"I never told you." He finally sits up. "Didn't want you to know."

"What is it, Spencer? What goes on when you sleep?" And this is it, this is where Spencer should tell her. But he opens his mouth and finds that he can't. She must see it in his eyes because she smiles at him, sadness in her trembling lips as she whispers, "I'm sorry," a final time. A moment later she's gone, slipping out the bedroom and leaving Spencer there alone on his bed.

He's not really surprised when, three days later, she doesn't come to tell him goodbye. She'd already done it.

*  
   
They're halfway to Chicago, his parents talking softly in the front and his sisters sacked out in the back row, when Spencer finds it. He'd been digging through his backpack, looking for some gum. It's a CD, and Spencer recognizes Brent's handwriting instantly. Even if he hadn't, the picture on the cover is the same one he'd set on the Spencer's night stand so many months ago.

He runs his fingers over the title, _Friendship Never Dies (Ten Year Reunion Mix)_ , before tucking it safely back into his bag, next to his pills.  



	5. to move, i

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

 **[to move: _a new direction_ ]**  
Spencer slams his book shut, frustrated. Restlessness makes his fingers twitch against the cover and he’d really, really like to go mess around on his kit, but he’s got mid-terms soon and he’s seriously unprepared. He’d hoped that the atmosphere of the college library would be conducive to getting some work done, but–he looks around–it’s too damn quiet.

His gaze flickers over the room again. Heads are bent, intent on whatever they’re studying. There’s a quiet shuffle of pages turning and Spencer kind of wants to yell. He hates these moods, and fortunately they don’t happen often. But dammit, he’s got to study. Freshman year had been, well, not a breeze what with the adjusting to a new city, a new life, but it had been filled with core classes. Easy classes. Physics has entirely too much math, but Spencer enjoys the challenge.

What he needs is some noise, something that will make him work at ignoring all the extraneous stuff and focus on his books. And coffee. Coffee would be good, too.

Spencer gathers up his stuff and takes off. Starbucks it is then.

   
*  
   
Laughter erupts behind the counter, but Spencer’s barely paying any attention. The table he’s seated at looks like a copier vomited all over it. On his left, a notebook is spilling out half its contents and on his right is a mostly empty coffee cup. There's a tiny bit that he swirls around for the third time. He sets it back down with a sigh.  
   
Ten minutes later, his fingers slide around the cup and it’s halfway to his mouth when he remembers that there’s still nothing in it. Frowning, he’s about to get up when a voice over his shoulder, asks, “Hey, dude, you need a refill?"  
   
The voice is quiet, but there’s humor at its edges. Something niggles at the back of his head, but Spencer just nods with a quiet _please_ and dismisses it. The barista fills it up and Spencer's reaching for it almost before he's done.

"Sorry, I couldn't get to you earlier, we had a rush. But watching you frown at your empty cup was entertaining, I can't lie." The guy chuckles and Spencer's hand stills at the sound. It's been nearly two years, but he knows that laugh. He's almost afraid to look, but it's like a compulsion. He can't stop himself.

He's got a little bit more weight, but his nose is the same crooked one from summers spent on the dock, running through the fields. "Jon," Spencer whispers.

Jon tilts his head, grinning. "Yeah, how'd you know? Oh, wait, duh." He reaches to the strap on his apron. "My nameta–"

It's not there and Jon glances back up, curious. "I just started yesterday. Have we met before?" Spencer chokes on the beginnings of hysterical laughter. It causes the coffee in his hand slosh over the edge of his cup and he hisses at the sudden burn, dropping the cup.

"Dude, are you okay?" He grabs Spencer's elbow and drags him into the men's bathroom. Spencer just stands there staring at Jon's down-turned head as he sticks Spencer's hand under the cold water. Jon looks up and Spencer sucks in a giant gulp of air. Concern is etched all over Jon's face, the look so familiar that Spencer's stomach ties itself into knots. A second later, he's on his knees in front of the toilet, heaving until there's nothing left.

"Shit, man. Are you–"

Spencer scrambles backwards when Jon's hand lands on his shoulder, spitting out, "Don't touch me!"

Jon holds up his hands, backing off, but not moving away. The wall tile is cool against his back and Spencer tries to think, to process.

"Listen," Jon says softly. Oh god, he's even got the lisp, Spencer notes. "Obviously something's wrong. Is there anyone I can call for you?"

My shrink, Spencer wants to say, since he's obviously finally gone crazy, but he shakes his head. He doesn't trust himself to speak. They both startle at a knock on the door. A muffled voice asks, "You okay in there, Jonny Walker?"

Keeping his eyes on Spencer's, Jon throws over his shoulder, "Good, yeah. Thanks." To Spencer, "We are, aren't we? Good, that is." He stands, holding out a hand. Spencer stares at it for a minute before raising his gaze. Jon smiles.

Swallowing hard, Spencer reaches out and slides his hand into Jon's. It's so strange. Spencer can feel the callouses, the strength there as he pulls Spencer up. He's fine until he's standing, until Jon says, "Pretty good grip you got there, you play?" And he realizes that Jon can touch him, can _feel_ him. This is _real_.

Spencer pushes past Jon, knocks into a couple people as he rushes out of the building, and doesn't look back.

*

He calls Ryland, but hangs up the minute his voice comes on the phone.

*  
   
“Hey–" Jon barely gets the words out before Spencer slams the door in his face.  
   
“Okay, man.” The sigh is audible through the door. Jon's voice is wary, slightly frustrated, as he continues, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I freaked you out somehow and I’d really like to apologize. Maybe even find out what I did.” There’s a pause and Jon raps his knuckles on the door. “But I’m not doing it to your door, okay?”  
   
Spencer doesn’t respond, just slumps against the door.  
   
“Right,” Jon mutters. Louder, “And I’m keeping your bag until you open the door.”  
   
He focuses on each breath. In. Out. After a few minutes, Jon leaves.  
   
*  
   
Jon comes back the next day, and the day after that. He comes back every day that week.  
   
*  
   
“These books are kinda heavy, Spencer Smit–oh.”

Jon looks startled. Spencer’s grip on the door frame makes his fingers ache. The door’s open, but he can’t seem to make himself speak. They stare at each other. This Jon is a little softer around the edges, Spencer thinks again. He wonders if this Jon's hair does the same soft curls when it's not straightened and hanging ridiculously in his face like it is now. Not that Spencer has any room to talk. In a fit of restlessness he'd taken a pair of scissors to his own hair two days ago. It's sticking up in soft spikes all over now.

“Hey,” Jon says. He’s studying Spencer even as Spencer can’t seem to stop staring. "I like your hair. Although," he frowns, tilting his head to the side. "You do kind of look like a lesbian now." Startled, Spencer laughs. It's true, he kind of does, he knows.

"There it is," Jon says softly, grinning. There’s something on Jon’s face, a quiet question. And curiosity, definitely. He seems to know that Spencer’s really fragile.

Spencer opens the door and steps back. After a moment’s hesitation, Jon comes in.

*  
   
It's strange, being around Jon again.

He's the same, and yet he's not at all. This Jon– _realrealreal_ –is a little more sarcastic, a little more passive-aggressive. He'll dog Spencer for answers, over and over, until Spencer wants to yell and then three seconds later, let it slide altogether. This Jon still likes to touch though, throw his arm around Spencer's shoulders, knock his elbow against Spencer's arm. A thousand little touches that each time, Spencer has to keep himself from flinching at. There's always a second's hesitation right after, but Jon never drops his arm. Never says a word even though he's got to have noticed. And when Jon does finally move away, drops his arm, his hand, Spencer wants to grab it back. He has to stop himself from holding on too tight, like Jon will slip away again.

It's frustrating and terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time. And Spencer can't seem to make himself walk away.

*

He wants to ask sometimes, if there's a Thomas, a William, for Jon. But Spencer's not sure he could take the answer, be it yes or no, so he never does.

*

Over the next few weeks, Jon persistently seeks out Spencer. Movies and concerts and study sessions, any excuse he can seem to get Spencer out of his apartment. He discovers that Spencer drums and after a moment's hesitation, Spencer thinks _fuck it_ and they walk a half mile down the road to a small storage building. Jon seems to know this is something important, not saying a word until Spencer rolls up the unit door. It's only 10 x 15, but it's big enough for Spencer's simple kit. There's an electrical outlet on one wall, a small heater/fan nearby.

"We should jam sometime, Spencer Smith," is all Jon says. He plays bass, Spencer knows. Like Brent.

 

It's nice to have a friend again.

*

They share a love of music, Spencer learns. Jon tends towards more classic stuff, the Beatles and the Beach Boys. Mellow, like Jon himself. Spencer's more a fan of music with interesting beats, diverse and difficult. Anything that makes him focus and quiets the noise in his own head. And while they're never quite his favorite, Spencer enjoys Jon's enthusiastic attempts to convince Spencer otherwise.

*

Spencer doesn't go home for Christmas, and Jon just looks at him, but doesn't ask any questions. They do some Christmas shopping and Spencer finds himself talking about his family, about his sisters, as they wander through Forever 21. He stares at Jon and thinks he has no idea what size to get. It's been over a year since he's seen them.

Something must show on his face because Jon reaches out, a hand on Spencer's elbow. "You all right, Spence?"

He shakes the hand off, reaching up to scrub his fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. "Yeah, it's nothing." He'll call tonight, talk to his mom. She'll know what the girls will want. She'll be happy that he's asked.

"Wanna get something to eat?" he asks, looking over at Jon. Patting his stomach, Jon just grins, letting him change the subject. "You know it, Smith."

*

Jon only asks about the pills once, early into the spring semester.

He's digging through Spencer's backpack for a pen. "Jesus, Jon. They're in the front pocket," –and Spencer hears the tell-tale sound of rattling before Jon pops back up, bottle in hand. He's reading the label, a frown marring his brow.

"Spence? What's this?"

In his head he grabs them out of Jon's hand, yells at him for touching. Instead, Spencer just shrugs. "I have trouble sleeping."

Jon just stares at him and Spencer can see that he wants to push it, ask why. But he just nods and bends down to put them back. When he rises, he's got one of Spencer's spare pens in his hand, and they continue to study in silence.

*

Spencer looks up at the sound of a shutter-click. Jon lowers his camera a bit, grinning like as asshole and Spencer glares at him. The camera goes off again and he growls, " _Jon_."

"Come on, Spencer," Jon whines as he slides into the seat across from Spencer. "It's amazing outside. We should head down to Oz."

Spencer raises an eyebrow, then deliberately glances outside. There's a soft layer of snow on the ground, more coming down in intermittent flurries at the wind's whim. Looking back at Jon, Spencer says slowly, "It's fucking snowing, Jon. You are high if you think I'm going anywhere other than back to my apartment. I'm sure as hell not going to the park."

He glances down at the table, glaring at the messy scrawl. What the hell was he thinking taking a comparative literature class? Sighing, Spencer drops his head into his arms on the table. He can't write for shit.

Jon sets his camera down on the table and presses the shutter again. Spencer narrows his eyes and Jon steeples his hands innocently over the top of it a second later. "We should go see the great and powerful Oz, Spence." He taps a finger on Spencer's paper. "Then you can ask for a brain."

Barking out a startled laugh, Spencer lifts his head. He's about to call Jon an ass, when Jon _aaahs_ quietly, a happy tilt to the corner of his mouth.

Confused, Spencer grins out a curious, "What?"

"You should smile more, Spencer Smith." Jon's eyes always crinkle in the corner when he's really happy. Spencer realizes abruptly that he's always known that. Something turns in his stomach; it's not unpleasant, but definitely a bit unsettling.

Spencer rolls his eyes. He can feel a faint heat across his cheeks. "Whatever, Walker. I smile all the time."

"No," Jon disagrees. "You really don't."

*

"Fuck, Spencer, move your ass." Jon pushes at his back. "I need coffee. Need, need, need." He shoves again and Spencer sends his elbow back into Jon's chest. "Motherfucker, knock it _off_. The line's moving as fast as it can."

"We'd be at the counter already if I was working," Jon mutters. His head is resting in between Spencer's shoulder blades. Spencer rolls his eyes. They've just finished a marathon study session for finals and Spencer's eyes feel gritty, his hands shaking a little from lack of sleep. Apparently Jon gets extremely whiny and needy for coffee when he's been awake for more than 18 hours.

"Wuss," Spencer grumbles under his breath.

The line moves and just as Spencer's about to step away and leave Jon hanging, someone shoves into them and the both stumble forward. Spencer's patience is frayed and he turns around to bitch, but the person is already apologizing.

"Shit, sorry abou– _Spencer_?"

"Hey," Spencer swallows. "Trevor."

"Wow, Spencer. Um, it's been a while." Spencer nods. He can feel Jon's curiosity as he looks back and forth between the two of them. They're both standing there staring at each other. Jon coughs and Spencer startles at the sound. The noise seems to remind Trevor that there's another person there. "Oh! Ah, sorry about that–" He waves a hand around, looking back at Spencer almost immediately.

"You look good," Trevor says quietly. "Happy."

Spencer swallows again, looking down at his feet. "Thanks."

He watches as Jon steps in closer. "So, I'm Jon."

There's a subtle edge in Jon's voice. Glancing up, Spencer can see the false smile on Jon's mouth as he offers a hand to Trevor.

"Oh! Right. I'm–I'm Trevor." He winces a little at Jon's grip.

"So, I gathered." The tone is bordering almost on rude now and Spencer frowns at Jon. There's a little reproach in the under-his-breath way he says Jon's name. When he looks back at Trevor, it's to see a widening smile. Before Spencer can say anything, apologize for Jon's behavior, Trevor's already taking his leave. "Anyway, I've gotta get out here. Study, study, study, you know?" Spencer nods.

Trevor takes a step closer and Spencer can feel Jon tense up beside him. _What the hell?_ Trevor bites his lip. To keep from laughing, Spencer can tell. They hug awkwardly and then Trevor's gone.

After they've gotten their coffee and are walking back to his apartment, Spencer looks at Jon and says, "What the fuck was that all about?"

"What?"

"Don't be an asshole. You know what, that-" He waves a hand about. "That _display_ with Trevor."

Jon shrugs and Spencer grinds his teeth. " _Jon_."

"Fine," he huffs out. "You never mentioned an ex-boyfriend wandering around the place." He sounds disgruntled, like Spencer deliberately didn't tell him. Or like he doesn't approve. Something twists in Spencer's stomach.

"Is that a problem?"

"No! Fuck. I just--well, I'd figured you pretty much asexual, Spence. You never look at girls, you never look at anyone." _Except you_ , Spencer thinks abruptly. Shit. "And the whole thing caught me off guard."

"Oh."

They continue walking for a bit in silence and then Spencer offers in a quiet voice, "It was at the end of my freshman year. I–I wasn't really ready though."

"For dating a guy?"

"For having a relationship with someone. They, you know, expect to get as much as they give." Spencer takes a sip of his coffee to avoid looking at Jon. "I didn't really have a lot to give at the time." He doesn't talk about being scared to sleep next to someone even with the pills, or how Trevor would barely speak to him by the end. Jon hums in agreement. "It takes a lot of work, I'll give you that."

A few more steps and he starts talking about a band coming into town next weekend. They've got dual drummers, something he thinks Spencer would really be interested in seeing.

It's not until hours later that Spencer realizes Jon never really answered his question.

*

Jon's been acting a little weird the last week, quiet and withdrawn. They're sitting in the living room, nearly on opposite ends of the couch, watching a rerun of _The Office_ when Spencer calls him on it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jon mutters into his chest. He's slumped way down on the couch and it looks kind of uncomfortable. It's also typical Jon avoidance.

 

"No, really. You're acting weird. What gives?" He's about to reach over and punch Jon in the arm when he gives a heavy sigh and answers, "Trevor."

That–that is not what Spencer was expecting at all. He stills.

"It just got me thinking, you know?" Spencer raises an eyebrow in question. Jon elaborates with, "Guys."

 _Oh._.

Spencer has no idea what to do with that. Although Jon's dated other people during the time Spencer's known him, they've always been girls. They've also never lasted past a few dates. Spencer's startled out of his thoughts by Jon's next words.

"I think you should kiss me."

"Oh, fuck _no_." Spencer shoves off the couch immediately, heading for the kitchen. This is not a conversation he wants to have now. Or ever.

"Why not?"

Spencer stops on the opposite side of the kitchen, leaning back against the counter. He gives Jon an incredulous look. "What the hell, do you hear yourself?"

There's a familiar stubborn look on Jon's face and Spencer swallows. Jon doesn't answer, just moves into Spencer's space. He puts an arm out to stop Jon. There's a pressure, Jon leaning forward into the touch even as he stops moving closer and Spencer can feel the heat under his hand.

In his mind, Spencer flashes to a memory–the light reflecting off the lake, watching the way Jon's skin looks warm from the sun. Pulling away from the cabinet puts him chest to chest with Jon. After a moment's hesitation, he dips his head and tries not to think about how this might be what he's wanted all along.

The beard feels strange, prickly yet soft, as he slides his fingers through it. As his fingers settle, cupping Jon's cheek, there's a small sigh and a parting of lips. Spencer reaches out then, to catch a taste. Jon's fingers tighten where they're resting on Spencer's waist. He can feel the way Jon trembles just a little and that, more than anything, makes him pull back. Jon follows with a little whine of disappointment. Spencer stares down at his lips, shiny and slick. Then he makes himself step away.

From somewhere he pulls out a nonchalant tone. "So. Kiss accomplished. Can we go back to watching TV now?" Sliding past Jon, he heads back into the living room.

Jon looks like he wants to argue, but just nods in agreement. So they end up back on the couch, sitting on opposite ends again. Spencer doesn't remember a single thing they watch that night.

*

Under his shirt Spencer can feel the sweat roll down his back. Even though the temperature has risen, the wind still holds a chill as it moves across his skin. As he steps out of the storage unit, he looks up and his breath catches. Jon's standing there, waiting, arms crossed over his chest.

"You are avoiding me, Spencer Smith."

Spencer huffs out, "And you are ridiculous Jon Walker," before starting down the street to his apartment. Unsurprisingly, Jon quickly steps into stride with him. Spencer lengthens his stride, forcing Jon to walk faster. It's kind a dick move, but he doesn't really want to talk to Jon right now. Talking to Jon means talking about the kiss and God, he doesn't even want to _think_ about that.

It's _all_ he's been thinking about for the last three days.

"You're freaking out." Jon tugs on his elbow. "And slow down, asshole."

Jerking away, Spencer hisses out, "Jesus, Jon, _what_?"

"You are freaking out," he repeats. "Which is hilarious given that I'm the one who's never kissed a guy before Tuesday."

That startles Spencer into stopping and he nearly ends up with an armful as he spins around. "What?"

"So. Here's the thing." He steps in closer, ignoring the question, and Spencer's breath catches. "I like you, Spencer Smith." Smiling ruefully, Jon rubs his hand over the back of his neck and glances up directly into Spencer's eyes. " _Like_ like you even. And seeing how you've been acting, I think the feeling's mutual."

"Of course, I like you Jon." Spencer's still trying to get a full breath in his lungs. "We're friends."

"But I think we could be more. I think we should give it try." Softer, "I think you have a lot to give." Spencer swallows hard. They've made it to the apartment and he leans against the building. He can feel the roughness catching at his t-shirt. "Jon–"

It's Spencer that shakes this time, when Jon kisses him.

*

It's not like a lot changes.

Jon's still sarcastic, still likely to say shit under his breath when he's pissed. They still sit on the couch, jam in the storage space, study, argue. All of it.

So it's not like a lot changes, but so much _has_.

Now, Jon crowds in closer. He pushes Spencer's space even more, until Spencer gives. Jon throws himself into sex so whole-heartedly that it makes Spencer's head spin. It's a nice feeling, controllable chaos, and Spencer lets himself get caught up in it.

*

The bed bounces a little as Jon flops down next to Spencer. They're both slick with sweat and there's come cooling on Spencer's chest. Jon mumbles sleepily, "I love sex." Spencer huffs a laugh, using the corner of the sheet to clean himself off. "I never would have guessed."

Jon rolls into Spencer's side, nosing at his shoulder. He murmurs, "Wanna stay," and slides his hand down to tangle with Spencer's. He does his best not to stiffen. This isn't an issue that Jon's pushed before, even though Spencer knows he's getting tired of having to leave every night.

"Yeah, sure."

"That is not the rousing response I was hoping for, Smith." There's the light feeling of teeth on his shoulder, a reproach.

"I don't think it's really appropriate for someone who's had their dick in me to call me by my last name." Jon blushes and Spencer is secretly delighted that he can still get one up on Jon. "Stop avoiding the question." The feeling dissipates fairly quickly at Jon's quiet, "Please?"

"Jon–"

"I'll go get your pills while you think about it." He slides out of bed, stopping to slip on his boxers and steps out of the bedroom. The light from the bathroom falls into the hallway, and Spencer can hear Jon stop to fill up a glass of water. A moment later he's back, handing the pill bottle and water to Spencer. He watches Jon watch him shake one out. Spencer pauses, staring down at the pale blue pill in the palm of his hand. He's dependent, he knows. Scared. Looking back up, he sees the question that's always there in Jon's eyes, the one he never asks.

He's not strong enough to tell Jon about the nightmares, about knowing Jon before. He's not strong enough to talk about that, but he can give Jon this. Give _himself_ this. He swallows the pill quickly and slides over to the other side of the bed. It's worth it to see the way Jon's eyes soften, the smile that spreads across his face.

*

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened that first day?" Jon asks quietly. Spencer can feel the question in between his shoulder blades, where Jon's breath settles even as he slides an arm over Spencer's hips, settling low across his hips. It's the fourth night in a row that Jon's stayed over.

He doesn't answer and after a while, Jon's breath evens out. Spencer closes his own eyes and falls into another dreamless sleep.  



	6. to move, ii

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

 **[to move: _a step back_ ]**  
The band on stage isn't bad, but Spencer's not really listening. The alcohol in his system is buzzing under his skin. Jon's talking to Greenwald–Spencer hears his name– but there's this guy standing behind them at the bar. Spencer's staring hard at the back of this guy's head over Jon's shoulder and not really paying attention. There's something really familiar–

"Drink up, birthday boy!" A shot lands in front him. "You only turn 21 once!"

Jon and Alex are holding similar shots and on the count of three, they all see who can finish first. A cheer goes up from the people standing nearby and Spencer forgets about the guy at the bar.

Later, he's making his way back to the table from the bar, three beers in his hand, when someone knocks into his shoulder on the edge of the dance floor. There’s a muttered apology in a deep, bland voice and Spencer’s head jerks up. The stranger disappears into the crowd before Spencer can get a decent look.

 _Couldn’t be._ He shakes it off, stumbling a little from the effects of the alcohol.

“Yo, Smith. Earth to Spence, come on.” He whips his head back around and meets Alex’s gaze “You’re wasting premium beer time by space-cadetting.” Greenwald’s kind of a douche, but Spencer likes him enough to set his beer down with a pleasant _fuck you, very much._ He gets a grin in response.

Twisting his neck, he takes another glance around the club. Jon slides a hand over his hip as he grabs his own beer and Spencer turns his attention back to their table. He leans into Jon's touch, just a little.

*

"Fuck, Jon–"

His voice breaks as the head of his cock hits the back of Jon's throat. He can feel the prickle of the building's brick wall through his shirt, the sweat-damp skin on the back of Jon's neck. His fingers tighten in Jon's hair, but they slide through the shortened strands. _Stupid hot haircut_ , Spencer manages to think before Jon swallows around him. His head knocks back against the wall, eyes closing. He's so close already.

"Shit! Sorry!"

Spencer's eyes snap open. The guy stumbles back out of the alley, all gangly arms and legs. There's a moment, when the light falls across his face, when Spencer gets a perfect look. His vision goes a little blurry around the edges as he comes, but it doesn't matter. He'd know those amber-colored eyes anywhere. Any time.

 _Ryan._  
   
*  
   
It’s not like he hadn't thought about it before. He'd found Jon, right?

Spencer spends the next two days in bed, claiming a hangover. While Greenwald just sends him increasingly tawdry text messages, Jon brings him water and slides into bed behind him. He never asks out loud, but a question is there each time he touches Spencer.

*  
   
Greenwald slams through the door and flops on the couch. “I am in love. I’ve found my soul mate, Smith. And they dress like my grandpa.”  
   
“Do they bathe?” Spencer responds, wrinkling his nose. “Because I can smell the grease build-up on your hair from a mile away.” Or at least a few feet, as he’s sitting on the other side of the couch.  
   
Alex arches an eyebrow. “We can’t all have lovely, shiny locks of a maiden, Spencersmith. The world just isn’t fair like that.”

Rolling his eyes, Spencer mutters in response, “Water. Soap. I hear it does wonders for your attraction to the opposite sex."

"Wait–" Spencer replays Alex’s earlier words. " _Grandpa_? When did you start batting for the other team?" Alex's love of the ladies is a well-known fact by the greater population of Chicago.

"Whatever." A hand wave. "We'll be hetero life-mates, Smith. We are going to make lovely, musical babies together." He pauses, then adds, "With awesome fashion sense."

Spencer snorts, changing the channel. "That's going to be really difficult, what with the no dick rule you have." He hits a channel showing _Family Guy_ and Alex makes a little 'stop' noise. "Also, you can't have babies, Alex, no matter how much you'd like to."

"So negative, Smith. That beard has made you surly."

"Shut the fuck up, this beard is awesome." It's been three weeks since his birthday and something that started out as being too lazy to get out of bed and shave turned into something he really likes. He scritches his cheek. "Jon likes it."

Alex shoves off the couch. "I don't need to hear about your kinky sex life, Smith, I have to go make a plan." He slams the door on the way out, less than fifteen minutes after he arrived. A few minutes later Jon wanders out of the hallway, yawning and running a hand over his sleep-mussed hair. "Whassat Alex?"

Spencer nods, taking a moment to take in the way Jon's boxer hang low on his hips. Jon's been working out a lot more lately, dragging Spencer off to the gym. Spencer's appreciating the view and Jon finally notices the way Spencer's looking at him. He wanders over to the couch, pushing him down into the cushions as he slides his hands along Spencer's sides, underneath his shirt.

"We really need to start locking the door," Spencer mutters as Jon licks over his neck.

"We do," Jon replies, biting down softly just under Spencer's ear. "I'm pretty sure he managed to get a hold of a key somehow."

Spencer thrusts his hips up a little and Jon's breath catches. "That's not really very reassuring, Jon."

"Let's stop talking about Alex now, okay?" He doesn't wait for an answer, sliding his mouth over Spencer's.

*

 

It's not until he's halfway through the door and sees the that the coffee shop is near to full that Spencer remembers it's open mic night. The corner in the back that's the designated stage area is empty at the moment, but there's an acoustic propped up against the stool, old but obviously well-loved.

He considers turning around and heading back home, but through the crowd he spots Jon and heads over. He's only a couple steps away when he realizes that Jon's deep in conversation with someone. Someone wearing the most hideous paisley shirt Spencer's ever seen.

With pinstripe slacks.

"Fashion king of my dreams." Alex flings an arm around paisley shirt's shoulder. "Have you decided upon an answer to my proposal? Hey, Smith." He throws a chin nod in Spencer's direction and everyone turns around.

The thing is Spencer's spent the last few weeks doing a pretty good job of convincing himself that he'd been mistaken in the alley, that it hadn't been Ryan. Only as he stands here now, does he realize how wrong he was.

"Spence!" Jon steps in, sliding a finger into a belt loop and tugging him in closer. "You gotta met Ryan." Spencer can't seem to make his mouth move. Ryan's got a smile starting when he gets a good look at Spencer then his eyes get comically wide and he blushes. Spencer would laugh if he wasn't so busy freaking out inside.

"This is Ryan. Ryan, Spencer." He doesn't move until Ryan extends a hand to shake. It's the same hand, fingers long and bony, cool against his palm.

"Have we met? Not like, you know–that time, but before?" Ryan drops his chin. Spencer's suddenly remembers the same movement from a six-year old boy, and his heart physically aches.

"No," he says brusquely and Ryan's head snaps up to meet his.

"Are you _sure_? You just seem really fami–"

"We've never met." Spencer interrupts. He's got to get out of here, he can barely breathe. Jon's looking at him a little strangely, about to ask what's going on, Spencer knows. "I've gotta go. It was nice to meet you, Ry. Ryan." Fuck. "Greenwald, Jon."

He's halfway to the door before Jon catches up, a hand on his arm. "Spence? Everything okay?"

Alex is busy whispering into his ear, but Ryan keeps glancing over at the two of them. Spencer can feel his eyes and he just wants to get out of here. He smiles at Jon and tells him, "It's nothing, I promise. I've just, you know, got a lot stuff to do for classes. Last year and all that." Jon just nods, not entirely convinced. Biting his lip, Jon asks, "What did Ryan mean about 'not that time'?"

Blushing, Spencer tells Jon, "He, ah, kinda walked into the alley during–you know, that night."

Jon's eyebrows raise, "No shit." He looks back over his shoulder. "Think he knows it was me with you?" Alex waves, saying something to Ryan that makes him shift his gaze to Jon.

"Well, I'm pretty sure he does now. Listen–" Jon turns back to him. "I've gotta go. I'll see you later, okay?"

He can feel Ryan's eyes on him as he leaves, but he doesn't look back.

*

Spencer doesn't know exactly how long he sits there on the edge of the bed, staring down at the bottle in his hand. The pills rattle and he realizes that his hand is shaking.

Seeing Jon, finding him, had been a coincidence for Spencer. A weird happenstance between some figment of Spencer's youth and reality. But Ryan–

Ryan _and_ Jon means something else all together. Something more than coincidence, something bigger. _Ryan and Jon mean that maybe Bren--_ Spencer shoves that thought away and settles on his side, pillow under his head. Reaching out, he sets the pill bottle on the night stand, unopened. His hands aren't shaking anymore, but he figures it's just because he feels a little numb now.

Turning off the lamp, the room goes dark. Light floats in from streetlights. It catches the edge of the bed, illuminating the bottle's label enough that Spencer can read his name with Dr. Blackinton's underneath it. Spencer stares at it until his vision blurs.

So yeah, it means something bigger, but he has no idea _what_.

 

Spencer's floating in that space between asleep and awake when Jon comes to bed later that night. He curls into Jon's warmth, sighing as arms wrap around him. There's a rumble as Jon murmurs his name, but Spencer's already slipping further into sleep. The slide of Jon's fingers around the back of his neck is the last thing he remembers.

He doesn't dream.

 

*

_cum to the 'bux, bearded lady. there's a frou frou coffee product with your name on it. also, muse-ic._

Spencer rolls his eyes. Greenwald is still a strange, strange dude. He's halfway through typing _sorry, i have to take a shower. cleanliness is next to godliness, you know_ when his phone rings.

There's a lot of noise in the background. "Hey, Jon."

"You should head over. Ryan's going to sing his new song, the one about waves of wooden legs." He says that like it's something Spencer should know. "Or something. I don't know, really, it's a pretty odd song." In the background, Spencer can hear someone shout _your face is pretty odd_. Greenwald. So they're both at the cafe. With Ryan.

Spencer ignores the flip in his stomach to ask, "So has Greenwald succeeded in seducing his hetero life-mate yet?" More laughter, distant but familiar. Jon snorts. "Of course not. Actually," he raises his voice. "Greenwald's in love with Ryan's friend, Z. For Elizabeth," he clarifies once again, like Spencer has any clue. He didn't realize that Jon was spending so much time with Ryan. The flip in his stomach turns over double time.

His thoughts are interrupted by an _oomph_ , Jon's muttered 'fucker', and the clatter of a phone hitting the ground. Jon's back a moment later, apologizing.

"I've got a lab report due tomorrow." He does, but it's already typed up and ready to turn in. "So I think I'll stay in tonight." He can hear Jon sigh even over all the noise in the background.

"Spence–"

"I'll see you later, okay?" Jon's gotten a little too good at reading his voice. "You can tell me about–about waves of wooden legs or whatever the hell he's singing about when you come home." There's another sigh and Jon murmurs _fine_. Spencer's about to hang up when Jon states quietly, "You know I love you, right?"

Spencer swallows hard. It's not something they say very often, not something Spencer thinks about a lot. But he does know, he _does_. In the noisy background, he hears Ryan greet Alex.

Just as quietly, he returns, "I love you, too." He wishes it sounded more like a promise.

*

He's busy thinking about the discussion he has to lead in his _Ethics in Science_ class next week so he doesn't notice that there's a body on the couch until he's practically sitting on it. He nearly falls on his ass trying to move back when he realizes who it is.

"What the hell?"

Ryan's eyes are startled and wide as he stares back at Spencer. It looks like he's about to respond when Alex wanders back into the living room and Spencer sputters, "What the fuck, Greenwald? You're like an apartment ninja. I swear to God. "

"You love it, don't deny it." Rolling his eyes, Spencer stands up. Ryan chooses that moment to stand and suddenly they're way to close. Spencer can see the little flecks of green in Ryan's eyes. He's got a ridiculous bowl cut, reminiscent of the one he'd had at seven–Spencer cuts off that train of thought and moves past the two of them.

He hollers over his shoulder, "Don't eat all the food, jackass." It sounds pretty light-hearted to him, enough to fool them. He's got homework to do anyway. Maybe his heart will stop beating so hard if he concentrates on something else.

*

A book hits the floor just as Spencer rounds the book stack, missing his toes by a narrow margin.

"Shit," someone mutters. "Sorry." Spencer recognizes the hand that reaches out to pick it up even before Ryan's eyes meet his and he offers a quiet, "Hey."

Spencer takes in the mess of books and papers spread out on the table. There's a pen being spun round and round, the only outward sign of nervousness. The fingers are ink-stained, the nails bitten– _Kingston's reading over his shoulder. Reaching out, he runs a finger along a line of ink that's made its way down the side of Ryan's pinky finger. There's teasing and laughter_ –Spencer shakes himself out of the memory to respond with a nod, "Ryan."

There's surprise in his eyes. "I wasn't sure if you actually knew my name," he mumbles and Spencer nearly laughs. Jon's done nothing but talk about Ryan for the last two weeks. Ryan this, Ryan that, Ryan plays the guitar too, Ryan is an amazing writer. Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. Until Spencer want to yell _I know, I've always known that_ , but he holds his tongue and lets Jon continue on.

To change the subject, Spencer taps a finger over one of the many books littering the table, a question.

"Grad student, American Lit," Ryan responds. It's so Ryan, that Spencer can't help the small smile that tugs at his mouth. Ryan says, tone a little defensive, "I like to read."

"I remember," Spencer murmurs. Ryan's gaze snaps back to his and Spencer can feel a blush making its way across his cheeks. He turns to go. "Anyway, I've gotta go find–"

"Is there something I've done to make you not like me?" Spencer pauses as Ryan continues, "I mean, I'm kind of lost in my own head a lot–" Spencer nearly laughs again, looking back over his shoulder. "So if I said anything–" Ryan trails off, looking a little lost. "I'm sorry?"

Before Spencer can respond, Ryan's continuing on. "You seem so familiar, but I just can't seem to place why." Ryan's gaze is intent, searching. Spencer can't seem to look away. "Are you _sure_ we've never met?" He watches Ryan's gaze turn inward, searching. Panic flutters in his chest and Spencer just mumbles out, "No. No, we've never--never met." _No, you never saw me. Never touched me. I didn't ever exist to you, so how can I be familiar?_ It's getting a little hard for Spencer to breathe.

Something must show on his face because a second later, Ryan reaches out. At the first touch of his hand, Spencer flinches. Turning away, he hurries past the table and down an aisle. Ryan's startled, "Spencer!" trails behind him and he just keeps going until he's pushed passed the main doors. He's halfway across campus before his breath settles and his vision clears.

Ryan must not say anything to Jon because he doesn't bring it up. Spencer breathes a little easier as they get into bed. He falls asleep eventually, determinedly not thinking about amber eyes.

*

Over the next two weeks he sees Ryan at least half a dozen times. Sometimes Jon's there and they have to stop, make conversation. More often than not, it's just Spencer. And each time, it's still a little shock. Yesterday, Ryan was in honest-to-god arm garters, like he was a fucking riverboat gambler. Jesus. Ryan had lifted a hesitant hand, waving, and Spencer had pretended not to see him, ignoring the twist in his stomach as Ryan's face fell.

And as if that's not enough, he begins dreaming again. Only this time it's just a blur of images, new and old, over each other until he wakes unsettled.

Or hard.

_Jon's whispering in his ear. It's something he's taken to doing with the last few months, telling Spencer in a quiet voice exactly what he wants to do to Spencer. How he wants to touch him, the sounds he wants to drag out of Spencer. What he expects in return. It turns Spencer on more than he cares to admit._

_There's a hand on his chest, not Jon's. The fingers are too long, although still callused in similar places. Spencer thinks that it's a funny thing to notice in his dreams._

_When he looks up, Ryan's there. A younger version of him: past-Ryan. Those stupid curls tumble against his cheeks, over his forehead. The hand slides over Spencer's chest to curl around his neck. Long, slender fingers twist through the hair at his nape, tugging just a little._

_Ryan's image shifts into the current version with its silly short haircut, but the eyes are still the same. Sharp now, staring straight at Spencer._

_Jon whispers something particularly dirty and Spencer can't help the way his body arches at the image. Skin slides along skin and he realizes Ryan's not wearing a shirt. The line of his hips draws Spencer's hands. They feel sharp under his palms and he watches as his fingers dig into the skin. Possessive. Real._

_Stepping in closer, Ryan breathes Spencer's name. Behind him, Spencer can feel Jon, hard and ready. His own body aches with so much need he can barely stand it. It's hard to breathe. Ryan's cock slides against his and heat flares through him._

Eyes snapping open, Spencer takes a huge gasp of air. His body feels hot everywhere and he's about two seconds away from coming all over himself. Jon snuffles in his sleep, instinctively settling in closer and running a hand over Spencer's hip. Normally it's a comfort, but now it doesn't help at all. With the dream images so fresh in his mind, Spencer's hips jerk and he has to bite his lip to keep from moaning out loud.

Jon's hand slips further down, fingers trailing over the top of his thigh. His fingers slide inward, curling around his inner thigh, the knuckles brushing lightly under Spencer's balls. Already so on edge, that's all it takes. He comes right then, with no one touching his dick. Jon's hand tucks itself around Spencer's thigh, effectively trapping him in place.

After he's calmed down, Spencer uses the corner of the sheet to wipe himself off. He spends the rest of the night, staring at the wall in the darkness. The sun is starting to peak over windowsill when he finally falls back into a dreamless sleep.

*

It's the start of a vicious cycle for which Spencer only has himself to blame. More often than not, he'll refrain from joining Jon and Alex when they set out for the evening, but he never stops Jon from going out.

The dreams keep coming, not every night, but often enough that it becomes obvious he's not sleeping very well. Jon tries on occasion to get Spencer to talk, but he always shuts that down before it can go anywhere. His temper is starting to fray, and Jon's getting frustrated with their lack of communication. Well, Spencer's lack of communication.

*

"Ryan says that--"

Spencer slams his book shut and Jon stops abruptly, frowning. “Spence?”

Spencer is really tired of hearing about Ryan. He's tired of having Ryan pushed into his face, over and over. It's his own doing, but still. He's tired of trying to _not_ think about Ryan; tired of dreaming about things he shouldn't want and can't have; tired of being confused all the time; tired of being jealous but never really knowing exactly who he's most jealous of.

Spencer's just _tired_ of it all, which is why he says the stupidest thing ever. "I'm beginning to think you'd rather be with Ryan than me."

Jon looks like he's been hit with a Mack truck. " _What_!?"

It's like he can't stop his mouth from moving. "Seriously, you seem overly-invested in what Ryan thinks. And you spend all your time with him." He kind of wants to laugh hysterically at that, seeing as how he's done nothing but shove Jon at Ryan for a while now.

"Spence–what?" Jon's jaw is tighter than Spencer's ever seen it. "What the hell are you doing, Spencer?"

He keeps pushing. "Yeah, I don't think I want to be second best. Maybe–maybe you should leave."

Jon continues to stare at him, eyes searching Spencer's face. After a few minutes–Spencer keeps his face as smooth as possible–Jon deflates. "Maybe I should," he responds quietly.

He walks out of the room and Spencer doesn't call him back. He can hear the shuffle of Jon getting his stuff together, the pause in footsteps when he walks past the kitchen again. Spencer keeps his back toward the entrance, silent, and a moment later there's the slam of the front door.

Spencer cradles his head in his hands and tries to keep himself from shattering into a million pieces.  
   
*  
   
Spencer's in the back of the library, head down, trying to figure out it's a 5 or an 8 on the paper in his hands, when he rounds a corner. Looking up, he stumbles to a stop.

Ryan and Jon are seated on one of the small couches. Jon looks exhausted, his head resting on Ryan's shoulder. From where he's standing, Spencer can see the dark circles under his eyes. He can see the way Ryan's fingers are resting on Jon's neck. Ryan's talking softly, head tilted down. Something flares in his stomach.

He doesn't know if he makes some kind of noise, or if he moves, but Ryan looks up at that moment. Startled recognition shifts to a glare and Spencer has to look away, but his gaze falls to Jon and that's not any better because his eyes are open now, staring at Spencer. There's sadness there, confusion, and Spencer can't stand it. Ryan opens his mouth to say something and Spencer does what he always does, he runs away.

*

Spencer's fucking tired.

He misses Jon horribly, the ache in his heart and the twist in his stomach a near constant presence. It takes forever to fall asleep now, without him in bed. And when Spencer does get to sleep, the dreams won't leave him alone. He wakes twisted and hot in his sheets, gasping for breath. Spencer can't remember the last time he got a good solid six hours of sleep. Dragging his keys out his pocket, he snorts. Probably when he was five.

So yeah, Spencer's fucking tired. It's the only reason he completely misses the figure standing in front of his door until he gets there.

After a second's pause, he continues toward the door, ignoring Ryan. His hand is lifted to unlock the door when Ryan stops him, a hand on his wrist.

"Spencer."

Frustration is evident in the tone of his voice, the tension in the fingers wrapped around Spencer's wrist. His hand is cool and dry and Spencer remembers that Ryan never seems to sweat. Never has really. The grip tightens and he draws his gaze away from those long fingers up to Ryan's face. It's a mistake.

Ryan is way too close.

He's taller than Jon, nearly as tall as Spencer, putting him at eye level. It wouldn't take much, Spencer thinks, to lean over and kiss him. He jerks back at the thought and Ryan reaches out, other hand to his arm. The simple touch has him stumbling back against the door. Ryan just follows him.

He's breathing too fast and he can't stop himself from looking again, can't stop himself from remembering back at sixteen, sheets sliding against skin. He wonders vaguely if Ryan still makes those sounds. It's not until Ryan's soft _oh_ that Spencer realizes he's been staring at Ryan's mouth for the last few seconds. He jerks his gaze up, heat blazing across his cheeks.

"Oh," Ryan repeats, dropping his own gaze to Spencer's mouth. His browns draw together. "But Jon--"

"Jon's yours now." Spencer's tone is abrupt and he turns his back to Ryan, fumbling with his keys. His hands are shaking and he grips them tighter.

There's a line of heat along his side that means Ryan's stepped in and he can't help the shiver that runs through him when Ryan says his name again, softer. The sound brushes warmly against his ear and Spencer can feel panic start to set in. The key finally slides into the lock and he nearly crumples with relief.

The last thing he sees before the door slams shut is Ryan's face, confused but thoughtful. Back to the door, he slides down until he hits the floor. Ryan finally leaves a few minutes later, footsteps tapping across the floor, and Spencer doesn't move for a very long time.

*

Over the next few months it seems that everywhere he goes, Ryan and Jon seem to be there. Greenwald's been distracted by Z, but manages to still send Spencer random, strange text messages. He ignores them and after a while they stop coming. Spencer pretends he doesn't care.

He corners Ryan in the bar one night, after watching him flirt with Z for hours, barely managing to get out a warning about messing with Jon's feelings when Ryan laughs. It's not a pretty sound, harsh and accusing. His response isn't pretty either when he looks at Spencer and says, "You have no room to talk."

He walks off without pause and Spencer spends a good chunk of the evening drinking himself into oblivion.

*

After a while, they settle into some semblance of normality. Spencer can say hello without wanting to punch something. Jon's eyes still hold a bit of sadness, but it's lessened. Ryan still watches him like he's waiting to catch Spencer up in something, but he smiles more now.

Spencer hates that he knows these things, but it's better than nothing.

He's passing by in the quad after finishing his last Physics final _ever_ –which is weird to even contemplate–when a hand on his shoulder stops him. "Hey, Spence."

It's Jon. Ryan is sitting cross-legged on a nearby bench, guitar in his hands.

"You look a little tired, finals?" Spencer doesn't want to do this right now, this exchanging of pleasantries, but he manages a smile.

"Yeah, kind of strange, isn't it? Soon we'll have to actually get real jobs and shit." Jon smiles. He's about to say something when Ryan starts playing a tune on his guitar. Spencer whips his head around, paling.

"Spencer?" Jon's voice sounds far away. Ryan looks up then, eyes narrowing at the look on Spencer's face. He plays a couple more measures, like he's challenging Spencer. Ryan still likes to push, even months later. Even after he's got what Spencer wants.

There's concern in Jon's voice, worry when he says Spencer's name again. This time with a hand on his arm. Ryan just continues to play, holding Spencer's gaze. It's only when there's something like triumph on Ryan's face that Spencer pulls away, turns to leave without another word.

*

A couple days later, there's a package in the mail. It has no return address which makes Spencer frown. His name is scrawled across the envelope in handwriting he recognizes instantly. A knot in his stomach tightens as he makes his way upstairs. He methodically puts his stuff away, deliberately ignoring the package on the table.

After doing everything he can to put off opening the package, he finally tears it open. Inside is a CD with the words _Northern Downpour_ written in a slanted, messy hand. It takes nearly an hour for him to get up the nerve to put it in, to listen as that familiar music fills his apartment.

He should have expected the lyrics–Ryan's a writer, he loves the way words twist and bend to his will–but it still shocks him. Jon's voice is soft, hesitant. His tongue trips over some of the words, but gain confidence as the song continues.  
   
He doesn't know what it is that boils through his veins, anger or fear. But as the song starts over again, he grabs his keys and slams out of his apartment. The words follow him anyway.

 _–missed your skin when you were east–_ ]  
   
*

"What the hell are you doing?"

Ryan's face is startled as Spencer pushes past him. The door closes softly and Spencer spins around. Ryan doesn't say anything and Spencer moves up into his space, slamming a hand against the door near Ryan's head. There's still no response.

" _Tell me._ " Spencer pretends there isn't an air of desperation in his question, but he can see the truth in Ryan's eyes. " _Why_ are you doing this? You've _got_ Jon, what else do you want?"

Ryan's still doesn't answer.

"Damn it, why do you insist on pushing at me?" He's yelling now, can barely see anything but months of frustration and fear.

"Spencer!" Jon's voice is sharp, cutting through the haze, the buzz in Spencer's head. He looks down.

His hand is wrapped around Ryan's throat. When he raises his gaze, there's a sliver of fear in amber eyes. For a split second, another scared face superimposes itself over Ryan's and Spencer stumbles back in shock. His knees give out and he lands hard on the floor, shaking and muttering _sorrysorrysorry_ , over and over again.

Warm arms wrap around him, familiar and missed. He can feel Ryan’s long fingers cupping the back of his head, threaded through his hair. Spencer sobs once, face tucked against Ryan’s neck. Jon’s whispering nonsense in his ear, trying to soothe him. They huddle around him, on the floor, and Spencer just gives in.  
   
Jon and Ryan just hold him tighter, catching him as he finally lets go.  


 


	7. to wake

  
**[to wake: _four years later_ ]**  
Spencer loosens his tie as they walk down the hallway, Ryan's voice drifting over him. He's not really paying attention to the words, busy making a mental note to call Brent later and wish him a happy birthday, but he does catch the phrase 'word nazi' so Ryan must be talking about his publisher, Beckett, again. Ryan bitches and moans like noone's business, but Spencer knows that Ryan has a bit of hero worship for the guy. Which, Spencer figures, he should. Bill Beckett has single-handedly built a small publishing empire and helped Ryan reach the top of the charts.

When they check Jon's room, he's not there, but Spencer can hear the echo of the piano down the hall and pulls Ryan in that direction. Ryan twists his wrist out of Spencer's grip, but a second later he can feel the slide of fingers with his own. He raises an eyebrow, but Ryan just rolls his eyes and Spencer laughs.

The music is louder now; it sounds familiar, like something that Spencer hasn't heard in years. His step falters. The music stops and Jon's warm laughter echoes down the hallway instead. Spencer can hear the low tones of conversation, mixed with an occasional little trill on the piano keys. They get to the doors and Spencer has to fight the urge to turn around and run, but Ryan tugs him through the door before he can act on the feeling.

The first thing he sees when he steps into the room is Jon, head thrown back. A wide smile on his face and laughter in his eyes. Spencer feels that automatic warmth rush through him that he gets with Jon, feels it in the pit of stomach and thinks for a second _mine_ before he notices the man sitting at the piano.

His back is to the door, but there's something so familiar about the line of the shoulders, the tilt of his head that Spencer nearly gasps. And when the stranger's hands tumble across the keys, not paying attention but picking out the tune that sends Spencer back six years, he can't breathe, can't move.

_itcan'tbeitcan'tbeitcan'tbe_

Jon finally notices the two of them standing in the doorway, "Hey guys, great timing! This is-"

"Brendon." Spencer whispers on a breath.

"–Brendon Urie." He can feel Ryan turn his head, startled. But Spencer can't stop staring at the man in front of him who's looking back at him just as solemnly.

"He's the new music teacher here and the kids love him already. Spencer?" He can hear the curiosity in Jon's voice, feels Ryan's fingers tighten around his own, but he can't respond, can't seem to make his voice work. And then Brendon smiles, brilliant and bright and _god_ , Spencer's missed that so much that his legs nearly give out.

"It's about time you got here, Spencer Smith. I've been waiting for _ages_."

 

**[the beginning]**


	8. fanart

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/prettykitty_fic/pic/00001f7a/)  
**Dreaming Spencer** by [](http://redorchids.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://redorchids.livejournal.com/)**redorchids**

 

I just want to say that I absolutely _adore_ this piece. I'm pretty sure I actually clapped my hands and jumped up and down in my seat when I finally opened it. The swirly clock is _brilliant_!

&hearts x a bazillion - thank you so very, very much [](http://redorchids.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://redorchids.livejournal.com/)**redorchids**!


	9. fanmix

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/prettykitty_fic/pic/000026qp/)  
Download [here](http://www.mediafire.com/?2mtm1mdvjyt)

 ** _TRACKLISTING_**  
\--------------------------------------------------  
 **~*~*~~~Dream All the Time~~~*~*~**  
\--------------------------------------------------  
01\. Neighborhood #4 (7Kettles) // Arcade Fire - 4:50  
02\. New Life // The Bird Names - 2:29  
03\. Entanglement // Parenthetical Girls - 1:38  
04\. From Stardust to Sentience // High Places - 3:35  
05\. Carousels // Beirut - 4:23  
06\. School Boys // Headlights - 3:14  
07\. Old Virginia // Crooked Still - 4:05  
08\. Teenage Spaceship // Smog - 3:59  
09\. Circus of Dreams // Gandalf Murphy  & The Slambovian Circus of Dreams - 5:39  
10\. He Passed Away (The Darkness in His Head) // Adam & the Amethysts - 3:15  
11\. In My Next Life, a Workhorse // The Luyas - 5:57  
12\. Glittering Blackness // Explosions In The Sky - 5:30  
13\. Back to the Life // Spoon - 2:22  
14\. As A Dream From Above // Fan Modine - 2:15  
15\. The New // Interpol - 6:07  
16\. Shut Up I Am Dreaming of Places Where Lovers Have Wings // Sunset Rubdown - 7:23  
17\. Florescent Half Dome // Dirty Projectors - 5:45  
\--------------------------------------------------  
 _Note: I tried to create a mix of sad, sweet, magical songs for this sad, sweet, magical story. I hope I did it some justice. Credit for some of the textures used in the cover art goes to<http://www.flickr.com/photos/by-lio/>. -- [](http://roebling.livejournal.com/profile)[**roebling**](http://roebling.livejournal.com/)_

 

You guys, you guys. This mix is _amazing_. I hadn't really heard of any of these groups (except Spoon, everyone should know Spoon), but it turns out that when she said she tried to put sad, sweet, magical songs together, she did it beautifully. I admit to a certain fondness for _Circus of Dreams_ and _In My Next Life, A Workhorse_ , but the whole thing is fantastic.

So many thanks to [](http://roebling.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://roebling.livejournal.com/)**roebling**!!


End file.
